
Class. 



/ Tl I 



COPyRIGHT DEFOSfT. 



THE DYAK CHIEF 

AND OTHER VERSES 



The Dyak Chief 

and Other Verses 



BY 

ERWIN CLARKSON GARRETT 

Author of 
"My Bunkie and Other Ballads" 




NEW YORK 

BARSE & HOPKINS 

PUBLISHERS 



75 3^^3 



Copyright, 1914 
By BARSE & HOPKINS 



APR -6 1914 
/ 

©CI.A371238 



®a Mb Matiitr 



Some Ye bid to teach us. Lord, 

And some Ye hid to learn; 
And some Ye hid to triumph — 

And some to yearn and yearn: 
And some Ye bid to conquer 

In blood hy land and sea; • 
And some Ye bid to tarry here — 

To prove the love of Thee. 



PREFACE 

Neither deeiring to plagiarize Caesar nor to 
compare my book to Gaul, I wish to mention briefly 
that this volume as a whole is divided into three 
parts, of which one is occupied by the single poem, 
" The D3^ak Chief," the verses that give title to the 
book ; another, the second, is occupied by American 
army ballads, and yet another, the third, is occu- 
pied by various verses on miscellaneous subjects. 

However, if recollections of my personal cam- 
paigns against Csesar — armed only with a Latin 
vocabulary and grammar — serve me rightly, the 
old Roman was not merely a worthy foe, but one 
who might well be held up as a worthy example ; 
who dealt with his chronicles as he dealt with his 
enemies on the field, in a simple, direct, forcible 
manner, bare of circumlocution, tautology or am- 
biguity — that he who runs may read — and read- 
ing, know his Gaul and Gallic chieftains, his Caesar 
and his Ciesar's legionaries, even as Caesar knew 
them. 

The initial poem, " The Dyak Chief," forming 
Part One, is a romance of Central Borneo, that I 
visited in July, 1908, during a little trip around 
the World. 

[7] 



Coming over from Java, which I had just fin- 
ished touring, I arrived at Bandjermasin, in south- 
eastern Borneo, near the coast, and from whence I 
took a small steamer up the Barito River to 
Poeroek Tjahoe, pronounced " Poorook Jow," 
deep in the interior of the island. 

Poeroek Tjahoe was the last white (Dutch) set- 
tlement, and from there I went with three Malay 
coolies five days tramp on foot through the jungle, 
northwest, penetrating the very heart of Borneo, 
sleeping the first three nights in the houses of the 
Dyaks, some nomadic tribes of whom still roam the 
jungle as head-hunters, and the last two nights 
upon improvised platforms out in the open, till I 
reached Batoe Paoe, a town or kampong in the geo- 
graphical center of the island. 

I also visited a nearby village, Olong Liko, after- 
wards returning by the Moeroeng and Barito 
Rivers to Poeroek Tjahoe, and from thence back 
to Bandjermasin on the little river-steamer and 
then by boat to Singapore, which was the radiating 
headquarters for my trips to Sumatra, Java, Bor- 
neo and Siam, 

Having thus reached the very center of Borneo 
on foot, I had an excellent opportunity to study 
the country, the people and the general conditions, 
so that the reader of " The Dyak Chief " need feel 
no hesitancy in accepting as accurate and au- 
thentic, all descriptions, details and touches of 

[8] 



" local color " or " atmosphere " contained in the 
poem. 

Full notes on " The Dyak Chief " will be found 
at the end of the volume. 

Part Two contains a number of new American 
army ballads, gathered mostly as a result of my 
personal observations and experiences when serv- 
ing as a private in Companies " L " and " G," 
23rd U. S. Infantry (Regulars) and Troop "I," 
5th U. S. Cavalry (Regulars), during the Philip- 
pine Insurrection of 1899-1902. 

As I have just mentioned, the army verses are all 
new ones, and consequently not to be found among 
those contained in my previous volume, " My 
Bunkie and Other Ballads." 

Part Three consists of individual poems on va- 
rious subjects without any interrelation. 

It is sincerely hoped that the reader will make 
full use of the notes appended at the end of the 
book, which addenda I have endeavored to treat 
with as much brevity as may be compatible with 
succinctness. 

E. C. G. 

Philadelphia, February 1st, 1914. 



[9] 



CONTENTS 

PART ONE 

PAGE 

The Dyak Chief 13 

PART TWO— AMERICAN ARMY BALLADS 

On the Water-Wagon 33 

Army of Pacification 35 

Solitary 38 

The Sultan Comes to Town 40 

Philippine Rankers 45 

Dobie Itch 48 

The Service Arms 50 

PART THREE— OTHER VERSES 

Shah Jehan 55 

The Omnipotent 59 

The Outbound Trail 62 

The Fool 64 

The Ships 67 

The First Poet 68 

The Test 70 

The Port o' Lost Delight 72 

William Cullen Bryant 76 

King Bamboo 77 



PAGE 

Mark Twain 79 

The Summit 80 

The Little Bronze Cross 81 

Keats 83 

Christmas 84 

Tuck Away — Little Dreams 85 

Bloody Angle » . . 87 

The Microbe 89 

The Seas 90 

God's Acre 92 

Gold 94. 

The Legion 95 

The Altar 97 

The Song of the Aeroplane 99 

Pack Your Trunk and Go 101 

Woman 103 

Nippon 105 

The New Bard 107 

Father Time 110 

My Loves 112 

The Forum 114 

The Masterpiece 116 

The Heritage 118 

The Adjusting Hour 120 

The Outposters 121 

Wondering 124 

Lines to an Elderly Friend 126 

Battleships 127 

The American Flag ........ 131 

The Great Doctors 133 

The Dreamer and the Doer 134 



PAOK 

Spain 135 

C. Q. D. 138 

The Lights 140 

Thk Chosen 141 

The Fairest Moon 144 

The Striver 146 

The Old Men 148 

The Four-Roads Post 150 

The Days of Chivalry . . . . . . ,152 

Phantom-land 154 

The Rose ... 156 

Patriotism „ . . 157 

Kelvin • « . » » . o . . . . . 159 



PART ONE 
THE DYAK CHIEF 



THE DYAK CHIEF 

Hear ye a tale from the deepest depths of the 
heart of Borneo, 
Where the Moeroeng leaps in wild cascades. 
And the endless green of the jungle fades. 
And night shuts down on the fern-choked 
glades 
Where the kampong hearth-fires glow. 



Listen, Oh White Man, that ye hear 

The words of a Dyak chief. 
Till ye learn the weight of the Dyak hate 

And the depth of the Dyak grief. 

Once in the days of my strength and pride 

I loved a kampong maid, 
And very old was the tale I told 

'Neath the lace of the jungle shade. 

And very old was the tale I told, 

Though born year by year; 
Till I thought of the headless waist I bore - 

And I drew the maiden near: 

[13] 



And I pledged her there by the tree-banked 
stream 

Where the ripphng shadows flee, 
" None but the skull of a kampong chief 

Shall hang at my belt for thee." 



II 



When over the palm-topped endless hills 

First broke the golden day, 
The taintless breeze in the highest trees 

Laughed as I swung away. 

Laughed as I climbed the mountain path 

Or skirted the river's bank, 
And the great lianes sung to me 

As on my knees I drank. 

And the great lianes softly swayed 
And twisted in snake-like guise, 

Till I lost their sight in the leafy height 
Where peeped the purple skies. 

And down through the dank morasses 

I leapt from clod to clod, 
O'er fallen trunk and lifted root 

And the ooze of the sunken sod — 

[14] 



Where the tiny trees stand tall and straight, 

A mass of mossy green, 
And lighting all like a fairy hall 

The sunlight sifts between. 

Day by day through stress and strain 
I pressed my marches through ; 

Day by day through strain and stress 
The weary hours flew. 

And silent, from the dank brown leaves 

As swept my hurrying tread. 
The little waiting leeches rose 

And caught me as I sped. 

Till my feet and ankles bled in streams — 

But I let them clinging stay, 
And they swelled to seven times their size 

And glutted and fell away. 

For never time had I to stop, 

And so they sucked their fill, 
As I splashed through the knee-deep rivers 

And clambered the jungle hill. 

And only night could halt me. 

And the stars in their proud parade, 
They bade me look to the fray before. 

And back to the kampong maid. 

[15] 



Ill 



Weary at last I reached a height 

That showed a fertile glade, 
Where the bending trees of the river brink 

Leaned out o'er a wild cascade. 

And white above the waving banks 
The towering giants rose high, 

And tossed their heads in hauteur, 
Full-plumed across the sky. 

And waved their long lianes 

A hundred feet in air. 
And shook their clinging vine-leaves 

As a Dyak maid her hair. 

And down by the Moeroeng's turning 

The river rock rose sheer, 
And out of the cracks the tasseled palms 

Like mighty plumes hung clear. 

While still, behind a boulder. 
Where the little ripples gleam, 

A fisher sat in his sunken proa 
In the midst of the gliding stream. 

m 



Only the crash of the underbrush 

Told where a hunter sped, 
And I caught the glint of the morning sun 

On the blow-spcar's glittering head. 

Only the crack of a mandauw 

Felling the little trees, 
And the murmuring call of a water-fall 

That echoed the jungle breeze. 

But more to me than the hunter — 
The fisher and stream and hill — 

Was the kampong deep in the hollow, 
Nestling dark and still. 

Dark and still in the valley, 

A single house and strong; 
Perched on piles two warriors high 

And a hundred paces long. 

And straight before the tall-stepped door 
The mighty chief poles rose. 

And seemed to shake their tasseled tops 
In warning to their foes — 

As they who slept beneath them 

Once did, when in their might — 

With shining steel and sinews — 

Full-armed they sprang to fight. 
[17] 



Long from the hill-side trees I watched 

The water women go 
Back and forth to the river bank, 

Chattering to and fro. 

Long from the hill-side trees I watched 
Till — straight as the windless flame — 

With spear and shield and mandauw, 
The kampong chieftain came. 

Full well I knew the waist-cloth blue 
Where hung each shriveled head. 

Full well I saw the eyes of awe 
That followed in his tread. 

Full well I heard the spoken word — 
The quick obedience fanned — 

And I felt the trance of the royal glance 
Of the Lord of the Jungle-land. 

Lightly he scorned the proffered guard 
As he strode the upland grade, 

And softly I drew my mandauw 
And fingered the sharpened blade. 

Was it for game or a head he came 

To the hills in the golden morn ? 

But little I cared as the heavens stared 

On the day that my hope was born. 
[18] 



For over and over I muttered — 
As I slunk from tree to tree — 

" None but the head of a kampong chief 
Shall hang at my belt for thee." 

(None but the head of a kampong chief 
For jou my belt shall grace, 

Taken by right in fairest fight — 
Full-fronted — face to face.) 

And I found a leafy clearing 

That lay across his path, 
And I stood to wait his coming — 

The chieftain in his wrath. 

As the moan before the wind-storm 
That breaks across the night, 

Were the rhythmic, muffled foot falls 
Of the war-lord come to fight. 

The crack of little branches — 
The branches pushed away — 

And the Scourge of the Moeroeng Valley 
Sprang straight to the waiting fray. 

'Twas then I knew the stories true 
They told of his fearful fame, 

As through my shield a hand's-length 
His hurtling spearhead came. 
[19] 



stunned I reeled and a moment kneeled 
To the shock of the blinding blow, 

But I rose again at the stinging pain 
And the wet of the warm blood's flow. 

And I staggered straight and I scorned to 
wait 

And I swept my mandauw high — 
But ere my stroke descended 

He smote me athwart the thigh. 

As the lean rattan at the workman's knife — 
As the stricken game in the dell — 

As a bird on the wing at the blow-spear's 
sting, 
To the reddened earth I fell. 

And merrily with fiendish glee 

He knelt and held me fast; 
And I looked on high at the fleecy sky — 

And I thought the look was the last. 

But by the will that knows no law 
I wrenched my right hand free. 

And I drove my mandauw's gleaming point 
A hand's-breadth in his knee. 

Stung by the pain he loosened. 

And a moment bared his breast. 

And like the dash of the lightning flash 

My weapon sought its rest. 
[20] 



As a log in the INIoeroeng rapids 

The mighty chieftain rolled, 
And I pinned him fast for the head-stroke, 

In the reek of the blood-stained mold. 

And I pinned him fast for the head-stroke - 
But the glare of the dying eyes 

Gleamed forth to show the worthy foe 
And the heart that never dies. 

A moment toward a kampong, 

And toward a kampong maid, 
I looked . . . and a head rolled helpless 

To the crash of a falling blade. 



IV 



With strips from my torn jacket 

I bound my arm and thigh, 
And I headed back o'er the leafy track 

With hope and spirits high. 

And as I sped with leaping heart 

All Nature seemed to sing; 
And my legs ran red where trickling bled 

The head of the Jungle King. 

[21] 



The purring tree-tops called me — 

The fleecy clouds rolled by — 
And the forest green was a sun-shot sheen, 

And the sky was a laughing sky. 

And only night could halt me, 

And the stars in their proud parade. 

They bade me look to the path before 
That led to the kampong maid. 

Bleeding and torn, spent and worn, 

At last I reached the hill, 
Whence each hearth-light in the falling 
night 

Was a welcome bright and still. 

For each hearth-light in the falling night 
Cut clear through the growing gloam — 

Of all brave things the best that brings 
The weary Wanderer home. 

But the waiting watchers spied me, 

And met me as I ran ; 
And they saw the head of the chieftain, 

And they hailed me man and man. 

But through the heart-whole greetings 

I felt the anxious gaze. 

And over my brain like a pall was lain 

The weight of the Doubter's craze. 
[22] 



And I begged them to tell me quickly — 
For I quailed at the story stayed — 

And I asked them if aught had happened 
To the head of the kampong maid. 

And there in the leafy gloaming — 
Where the stars lit one by one, 

They told me the tale at my homing — 
And I felt the passions run — 

Hate as the white-hot flame jet — 

Shame as the burning bar — 
Grief as the poisoned arrow — 

Revenge as the salted scar: 

Rankling — roaring — blinding — 

Rising and ebbing low ; 
Till overhead the skies burst red, 

And I tottered beneath the blow. 

For they told of a White Man's coming. 
And the weapon that carries far; 

And his love for the Maid — but over it laid 
The hush of the falling star. 

Faithlessness — treachery — cunning — 

Weakness and love and fear — 
Oh very old was the tale they told, 

Though born year by year. 
[23] 



And I drew my blade and I leapt away — 
But they sprang and held me fast : 

And they promised me there by the dead 
chief's hair, 
My hate should be filled to the last. 

And they showed me him bound and knotted 
To the base of a splintered tree, 

Stripped to the sun and spat upon 
And taunted — awaiting me. 

And I saw her in the shadows — 

But ... I might not know her, then — 

A sneer for the kampong women — 
And a jest for the kampong men. 

And thus in the days of my strength and 
pride. 

From over the distant sea. 
The White Man came in his open shame 

And stole my love from me. 



The next morn at the rising sun 

The tom-toms roared their fill, 

And echoed like rolling thunder 

From hill to farthest hill. 
[24] 



And the birds of the jungle fluttered 

And lifted and soared away, 
And we dragged the fettered prisoner forth 

To blink at the blinding day. 

Full length and naked on the ground 

We staked him foot and hand, 
And we laughed in glee as we watched to see 

The pest of the jungle-land. 

Oh we laughed in glee as we watched to see 

The little leeches swing, 
End on end till they reached the flesh 

Of the prostrate, strugghng Thing. 

Like river flies in the summer rains 

They covered the White Man o'er — 

Body and legs and arms and face. 
Till the whole was a bleeding sore. 

And the red streams ran from the crusted 
pools 

And crimsoned the leafy ground. 
And the scent of gore but brought the more 

As the smell of game to the hound. 

Hour by hour I watched him die, 

Slowly day by day, 
Hour by hour I watched the flesh 

Sinking and turning gray : 
[25] 



Hour by hour I heard him shriek 

To the skies and the White Man's God — 
But only the gluttons came again 

And reddened the reeking sod. 

Weeping, writhing, groaning — 

Paled to an ashen dun — 
And the clotted blood turned black as mud 

And stunk in the midday sun. 

(Bones where stretched the tautening flesh — 

A shining, yellow sheen — 
And the flies that helped the leeches work 

In the stagnant pools between.) 

Till the fourth day broke in a blaze of 
gold — 

And I knew the end was nigh — 
And I called the tribes from near and far, 

To watch the White Man die. 

From every kampong of the south 
Where the broad Barito winds — 

From every kampong of the east 
The murmuring hill-wind finds — 

From every kampong of the west 

Where the Djoeloi falls and leaps — 

From every kampong of the north 

Where the great Mohakkam sweeps — 
[26] 



From east and west and south and north 

The mighty warriors came, 
To prove the weight of the Dyak hate 

And the shame of the naked shame. 

In noiseless scorn and wonder 
They scanned the victim there, 

Except that when an Elder spake 
To mock at his despair. 

Or when from out the long-house — 
Where loosened footboards creaked — 

A woman leaned in frenzy 

And tore her hair and shrieked. 

And from the wooded hill-tops 
The answering echoes came, 

Till all our far-flung wilderness 
Stooped down to curse his name. 

In sullen, savage silence 

They watched the streamlets flow: 
In savage, sullen silence — 

The war-lords — row on row — 

Ranged around by rank and years, 

Oh goodly was the sight, 
Square shouldered — spare with mus- 
cles bare 
Coiled in their knotted might — 
[27] 



And little serpent eyes that gleamed 

In glittering, primal hate, 
Like adders, that beneath the leaves 

The coming foot falls wait. 

The shrunken heads about their belts 

Stared with senseless grin, 
As though in voiceless mummery 

They mocked him in his sin. 

As though in sightless greeting — 

To make his entry good 
To th' lost and leering legion 

Of the martyred brotherhood. 

We rubbed his lips with costly salt — 
(You know how far it comes) — 

And when he called for drink — we laughed — 
And rolled the Sick-man's Drums. 

They beckoned me unto his side — 
The blood-stench filled the dell — 

They asked me — "Ye are satisfied?" 
And I answered — " It is well." 

The final glaze was settling fast — 

The weary struggles ceased — 

And on his breath was the moan of death 

That prayed for life released. 
[28] 



So we propped his mouth wide open 

With a knob of rotten vine, 
And the leeches entered greedily 

As white men to their wine. 

Palate and roof and tongue and gums, 
They gushed in rivers gay — 

And gasping — his own blood choked him 
And his Spirit passed away. 



This is the tale the old chief tells 
When the western gold-belt dies. 

And the jungle trees in the evening breeze 
Tower against the skies. 

And the good-wife bakes the greasy cakes 
Where the kampong hearth-fires rise. 



[29] 



PART TWO 
AMERICAN ARMY BALLADS 



[31] 



ON THE WATER-WAGON 

Pay-day's done and I've had my little fun — 

I've had my monthly row — 
And they put me in " the mill " and they told me, 
" Peace be still," 

And — I am on the Water-wagon now. 

Oh Vm on the Water-wagon and the time is 
surely draggin* 
And Vm thirsty as I can he; 
And Fm nursing of an eye that I got for being 

And Vm bunking back o' bars exclusively. 

Now wouldn't it upset you — now wouldn't it 
afret you 
If they jugged you 'cause you got a little tight, 
And a zig-zag course you laid when doing Dress 
Parade, 
And you really thought Guide Right was 
Column Right. 

Oh Vin on the Water-wagon but the trial is surely 

laggin' 

And I'm dryer than the Arizona dusty 
[33] 



And my throat is full o' hay and Vm choppiii' 
wood all day 
'Cause the Sergeant of the Guard, he says I 
must. 

The Jug is rank and slummy and I'm sitting like 
a dummy 
Looking over at the baiTacks where I hear the 
mess-tins cLang: 
And the fool I am comes o'er me, as I chant the 
same old story? 
The Ballad of the Guard-house — until I go 
and hang : — 

" Oh Fm on the Water-wagon, you'll never see 
me saggin\ 
I am glued and tied and fastened to the 
seat . . ." 
And I hear the fellers snicker where the two lone 
candles flicker. 
And I shut-up like a soldier — zenith the Ballad 
incomplete. 



[34] 



ARMY OF PACIFICATION 

Cuba 1907 

I've hiked a trail where the last marks fail 
And the vine-choked jungles yawn, 

I've doublcd-out on a dirty scout 
Two hours before the dawn, 

I've done my drill when the palms hung still 
And the rations nearly gone. 

I've soldier'd in Pinar del Rio — 

In 'Frisco and Aparri — 
I've lifted their lights through the tropic 
nights 

O'er the breast of a golden sea, 
But this is surely the craziest puzzle 

That ever has puzzled me. 

It's this. I'm here in Cuba 

Where the royal palms swing high. 

And the White INIan's plantations of all o' 
the Nations 
Are scattered ahither and nigh 

And the native galoot who 77iust revolute 

Though no one can tell you just why. 
[35] 



And when I go mapping the mountain and 
vale 
Or a practice-march happens my way, 
Each phmter I meet is lovely and sweet 

And setteth them up right away, 
" And won't I come in and how've I been? " 
And — " How long do I think the troops 
stay? " 

They never besprinkled my bosom 

When I soldier'd over home, 
Nor clasped me in glee when I came from 
the sea 
Where the Seal Rock breakers comb, 
Or stamped on a strike and scattered them 
wide 
Like the scud of the back-set foam. 

When I saved 'em their stinking Islands 
They cursed me for being rough : 

(They wouldn't dare to have soldier'd there 
But they called me brutal and tough. 

I had done their work and the land was theirs, 
Which I reckon was nearly enough). 

They never enthuse over khaki or " blues " 

Anywhere else I've been. 

They never go wild and bless the child 

And say " Oh Willie come in." 
[36] 



Though on my soul, I'm damned if I see 
Just where is the Cardinal Sin. 

Vm only a buck o' th^ rank and file 

As stupid as I can be. 
So this is the craziest puzzle 

That ever has puzzled me. 
(/'m perfectly dry but I must bat an eye. 

For you think that I cannot see.) 



[37] 



SOLITARY 

We're walking our post like a little tin soldier, 

Backward and forward we go, 
By the Solitary's cell, wliich assuredly is hell — 

It's five foot square you know. 

The boy was all right but he would get tight 

When pay-day came around; 
And the non-com he hated was thereupon slated 

To measure 5-10 on the ground. 

Oh yes, we^ve been in the calaboose, 

We've done our turn in the jug; 
'Cause the fellow we lick must go raise a kick — 

The dirty, cowardly mug. 

His heart was all right and his arm was all right. 

But it's fearful what drink will do : 
And the corporal he hit with the butt of a gun 

And nigh put the corporal through. 

It's way against orders, it's awful, I know. 

They'd jug me myself — what's more — 

But I must slip the beggar a chew and a smoke 

Just under the jamb of the door. 
[38] 



He's bound to get Ten and a Bob for sure 

Abreaking stone on the Isle, 
So they fastened 'im fair in a five foot square 

Till the day that they give 'im a trial. 

Oh the Corporal o' the Guard is a wakeful man — 

My duty is written plain, 
But the Solitary there in his cramped and lonely 
lair. 

It's enough to drive a man insane. 

He's time to repent for the money that he spent 

And the temper that cursed him too, 
When he's breaking rock all day by the shores o' 
'Frisco Bay 
Where he sees the happy homeward-bounds come 
through. 

Shall we risk it — shall we risk it — heart o' mine? 

Oh damn the Corporal of the Guard. 
While we slip " the makings " under to the Soli- 
tary's wonder. 
And the whispered thanks come back — " God 
bless you, pard." 



[39] 



THE SULTAN COMES TO TOWN 

A Philippine Reminiscence of 1900 

The Sultan of Jolo has come to town — 

Do tell! 
The Sultan of Jolo has come to town — 
The Sultan of Jolo of great renown — - 
And he's dressed like a general and walks 
like a clown 

As well. 

The Sultan of Jolo's a mighty chief — 

My word! 
The Sultan of Jolo's a mighty chief — 
(Don't call 'im a grafter or chicken-thief, 
For you'll surely come to your grief, 

If heard). 

The Sultan of Jolo's such a stride, 

And style ! 
The Sultan of Jolo's such a stride, 
And his skin's the color of rhino hide. 
And he cheweth betel-nut beside : 

(Oh vile!) 



[40] 



The Sultan of Jolo's a swell galoot — 

You bet. 
The Sultan of Jolo's a swell galoot, 
So we line the scorching streets and salute, 
(" Presenting Arms " to the royal boot). 

And sweat. 

The Sultan of Jolo's a full-fledged king — 

I say! 
The Sultan of Jolo's a full-fledged king 
As down the regiment's front they swing, 
He and his Escort — wing and wing: 

Hurray ! 

The Sultan of Jolo feels his weight. 

In truth. 
The Sultan of Jolo feels his weight 
As he marches by in regal state 
With Major Sour and all The Great, 

Forsooth. 

The Sultan proudly treads the earth 

With " cuz." 
The Sultan proudly treads the earth 
O'ershadowed by the Major's girth. 
But he knows just what the Major's worth: 

He does. 



[41] 



The Sultan of Jolo's a haughty bun — 

(Don't quiz). 
The Sultan of Jolo's a haughty bun — 
An honest, virtuous gentleman — 
And he's rated high in Washington — 

He is. 

The Sultan of Jolo's a splendid bird — 

Whoopee ! 
The Sultan of Jolo's a splendid bird, 
But we in our ignorance pledge our word 
His asinine plumage is absurd 

To see. 

The Sultan and Major Sour are 

Such chums : 
The Sultan and Major Sour are 
So wrapped in love exceeding par, 
That war shall never war-time mar — 

— what comes. 

(The Sultan of Jolo guesseth right — 

Yo ho ! 
The Sultan of Jolo guesseth right. 
As sure as daytime follows night, 
That Major Sour wouldn't fight: 

Lord — no!) 



[42] 



The Sultan of Jolo is pretty wise — 

(And weeds). 
The Sultan of Jolo is pretty wise, 
In spite of innocent, bovine eyes, 
And the soothing tongue o' the Eastern skies 

And creeds. 

The Sultan of Jolo passeth by — 

Oh Lor' ! 
The Sultan of Jolo passeth by, 
But we in the ranks can't wink an eye, 
Though we think we know the Reasons Why, 

And more. 

The Sultan of Jolo walketh flat — 

(Have a care!) 
The Sultan of Jolo walketh flat, 
But Nature's surely the cause of that; 
And he's salaried high — and sleek and 
fat — 

So there ! 

The Sultan of Jolo laughs in glee — 

Why not.? 
The Sultan of Jolo laughs in glee 
As his wages come across the sea 
From those who hate polygamy — 

God wot! 



[43] 



Oh the Sultan of Jolo's gold and gilt — 

He is. 
Oh the Sultan of Jolo's gold and gilt, 
His chest and his sleeves and his good sword 

hilt, 
And he knows the lines on which are built — 

His biz. 



[44] 



PHILIPPINE RANKERS 

Clear down the thin-thatched barrack-room 

The varying voices rise — 
The shrill New England teacher's — 

(The wisest of the wise) — 
And the Cowboy cleaning cartridges 

And telling fearful lies. 

The Bowery Boy is fast asleep 

Performing Bunk-fatigue, 
The Kid who simply can't keep still 

Is pounding through a jig, 
And a plain darn fool just sits and sings 

And sneaks another swig. 

A bouncing bargain-counter clerk 

Dilates to Private Brown, 
The lordly top-notch swell he is 

When he is back in town, 
And the scion of an ancient name 

Just yawns and hides a frown. 

The mountain-riding Parson talks 

T' his Y. M. C. A. band, 
And mine Professor's turning Keats 

With hard and grimy hand, 
[45] 



And Johnny's reading football news 
When baseball fills the land. 

And some they pull together — 
And some won't gee at all — 

And some are looking for a fight 
And riding for a fall — 

And some, they ran from prison bars ; 
And some, just heard The Call. 

And some are simply " rotters " — 
And some the Country's best : 

And some are from the cultured East — 
And some the sculptured West : 

And some they never heard of Burke — 
And some they sport a crest. 

("The Backbone of the Army "— 
" The Chosen of the Lord "— 

The Faithful of the Fathers — 
The Wielders of the Sword — 

The hired of the helpless — 
The bruisers and the bored.) 

The east-sides of the cities 

Are aye foregathered here ; 
The best sides of the cities 

Are come from far and near, 

[46] 



To mix their books and Bibles 
With oaths and rotten beer. 



Clear down the mud-browed, blood-plowed 
ranks 
The thin, tanned faces lift; 
The long, lean line that hears the whine 

Of the bamboo's silken sift. 
And the sudden rush and the chug and the 
hush 
Where the careless bullets drift. 

The Parson's up and shooting 

And cursing like a fool; 
The Bowery Boy is bleeding fast 

In a red and ragged pool; 
And mine Professor gags the wound — 

(Which he didn't leam in school). 

Nor creed nor sign nor order — 

Nor clan nor clique nor class: 
Never a mark to brand him 

As he chokes in the paddy grass: 
Only the tide of Bunker Hill, 

That ebbs, but may not pass. 



[47] 



DOBIE ITCH 

Tell about the fever 

And all y' tropic ills. 
Tell about the cholera camp 

Over ^rnong the hills; 
Tell about the small-pox 

Where the bamboos switch. 
But close «/' face and let me tell 

About the Dobie Itch. 

It isn't erysipelas — 

It isn't nettle-rash; 
It isn't got from eating pork, 

Or drinking native trash. 
You smear your toes with ointment, 

And think you're getting well, 
And then the damn thing comes again 

And simply raises hell. 

You've hiked all day in sun and rain 
Through hills and paddy mire. 

Abaft the slippery googoos 
Who shoot — and then retire : 

[481 



And now you've taken off your shoes 

And settled for a rest, 
When suddenly your feet they start 

To itch like all possessed. 

(Better take your socks off 

And then see how it goes. . . . 

" Ouch ! m' bloody stockin's 
Stickin' to m' toes.") 

Scratching, scratching, scratching. 

Burning scab and sore, 
(" Stop, you fool, you'll poison 'em!' 

Hear your bunkie roar). 
Never mind the poison — 

Ease the maddening pain. 
Till your poor old tired feet 

Start to bleed again. 

Tell about the fever 

And all if tropic ills. 
Tell about the cholera camp 

Over 'mong the hills; 
Tell about the small-pox 

Where the bamboos switch. 
But close if face and let me tell 

About the Dobie Itch. 



[49] 



THE SERVICE ARMS 

Clear from clotted Bunker Hill 

And frozen Valley Forge, 
To the Luzon trenches 

And the fern-choked gorge: 
All the Service — all the Arms — 

Horse and Foot and Guns — 
East and West who gave your best 

Stand and pledge your Sons I 



The Infantry: 

As the Juggernaut slow rolls 
Ringing red with reeking tolls, 
Crushing out its Hindu souls 

In Vishnu's name: 
As the unrelenting tide 
Sweeps the weary wreckage wide, 
Bidding all men stand aside 

Or rue the game: 

Meeting front and flank and rear, 
Charge on charge with cheer on cheer, 
[50] 



Where the senseless corpses leer 

Against the sun : 
Sure as fate and faith and sign 
I o'erwhelm them — they are mine ; 
And I pause where weeps the wine 

Of battle won. 



The Artillery: 

As the slumbering craters wake, 
And the neighboring foot hills shake, 
As in shotted flame they break 

Athwart the sky: 
As the swollen streams of Spring 
Meet their river wing and wing, 
Till it sweeps a monstrous thing 

Where cities die: 

With a cold sardonic smile. 
At a range of half a mile, 
I — I lop them off in style 

By six and eights : 
As they come — their Country's best - 
Like a roaring, seething crest, 
And I knock them Galley West 

Where Glory Waits. 

[51] 



The Cavalry: 

As the tidal wave in spate 
Batters down the great flood gate 
Where the huddled children wait 

Behind the doors : 
As the eagle in its flight 
Sweeps the plain to left and right, 
Strewing caniage, wreck and blight 

And homeward soars: 

As the raging, wild typhoon, 
'Neath a white and callous moon, 
Lifts the listless low lagoon 

Into the sea: 
In my tyranny and power 
I have swept them where they cower, 
I have turned the battle-hour 

To the cry of Victory ! 



[52] 



PART THREE 
OTHER VERSES 



[63] 



SHAH JEHAN 

BUILDER OF THE TAJ MAHAL. 

They have carried my couch to the window- 
Up over the river high, 

That a Great Mogul may have his wish 
Ere he lay him down to die. 

And the wish was ever this, and is, 

Ere the last least shadows flee. 
To gaze at the end o'er the river's bend 

On the shrine that I raised for thee. 

And the plans I wrought from the plans they 
brought. 

And I watched it slowly rise, 
A vision of snow forever aglow 

In the blue of the northern skies. 

For I built it of purest marble, 

That all the World might see 
The depth of thy matchless beauty 

And the light that ye were to me. 



[551 



The silver Jumna broadens — 

The day is growing dark, 
And only the peacock's calling 

Comes over the rose-rimmed park. 

And soon thy sunset marble 

Will glow as the amethyst, 
And moonlit skies shall make thee rise 

A vision of pearly mist. 

A vision of light and wonder 

For the hordes in the covered wains, 

From the snow-peaked north where the tides 
burst forth 
To the Ghauts and the Rajput plains. 

From the sapphire lakes in the Kashmir hills, 

Whence crystal rivers rise. 
To the jungles where the tiger's lair 

Lies bare to the Deccan skies. 

And the proud Mahratta chieftains 

And the Afghan lords shall see 
The tender gleam of thy living dream, 

Through all Eternity. 

The black is bending lower — 

Ah wife — the day-star nears — 

And I see you come with calling arms 

As ye came in the yester-years. 
[56] 



And the joy is mine that ne'er was mine 
By Pahice and Peacock Throne — 

By marble and gold where the World grows 
cold 
In the seed that It has sown. 

More bright than the Rajputana stars 

Thine eyes shone out to me — 
More gay thy laugh than the rainbow chaff 

That lifts from the Southern Sea. 

More fair thy hair than any silk 

In Delhi's proud bazaars — 
More true thy heart than the tulwar's start — 

Blood-wet in a hundred wars. 

More red thy lips than the Flaming Trees 
That brighten the Punjab plains — 

More soft thy tread than the winds that 
spread 
The last of the summer rains. 

No blush of the dawning heavens — 

No rose by the garden wall, 
May ever seek to match thy cheek — 

Oh fairest rose of all. 

Above the bending river 

The midday sun is gone, 
[57] 



But the glow of thy tomb dispels the gloom 
Where doubting shadows yawn. 

And the glow of thy tomb shall break the 
gloom 
Through the march of the marching years, 
Where, builded and bound from the dome 
to the ground 
It was wrought of a monarch's tears. 

The silver Jumna broadens 

Like a moonlit summer sea, 
But bank and bower and town and tower 

Have bidden farewell to me : 

And only the tall white minarets. 

And the matchless dome shine through — 

The silver Jumna broadens and — 
It bears me — love — to you. 



[58] 



THE OMNIPOTENT 

The Lord looked down on the nether Earth 
He had made so fair and green, 

Fertile valleys and snow-capped hills 
And the oceans that lie between. 

The Lord looked down on Man and Maid, 
Through the birth of the crystal air: 

And the Lord leaned back in His well-earned 
rest — 
And He knew that the sight was fair. 

The eons crept and the eons swept 

And His children multiplied, 
And ever they lived in simple faith. 

And in simple faith they died. 

They blessed the earth that gave them 
birth — 
They wept to the midnight star — 
And they stood in awe where the tides off- 
shore 
Rose leaping across the bar. 



[59] 



They blessed the earth that gave them birth — 

But passed all time and tide, 
They blessed their Lord-Creator — 

Nor knew Him mystified. 

They came and went — the little men — 

The men of a primal breed — 
And the Lord He gathered them as they 
lived, 

Each in his simple creed. 

And the Lord He gathered them as they 
came — 

Ere the Earth had time to cool 
And the horde of Cain had clouted the brain 

'Neath the lash of a monstrous school. 



II 



The Lord looked down on the nether Earth 
He had made so fair and green — 

Fertile valleys and snow-capped hills 
And the oceans that lie between. 

And He saw the strife of the thousand 

sects — 

And ever anew they came — 

Torture and farce and infamy 

Committed in His name. 
[60] 



Figure and form and fetich — 

Councils of hate and greed — 
Prophet on prophet warring, 

Each to his separate need. 

Symbol and sign and surplice 

And ostentatious prayer, 
And the hollow mock of the chanceled dark 

Flung back through the raftered air. 

And the Lord He gazed wistfully 
Through the track of a falling star; 

And He turned His sight from the homes of 
men, 
Where the ranting cabals are. 



[61] 



THE OUTBOUND TRAIL 

The Outbound Trail — The Outbound Trail — 

We hear it calling still : 
Coralline bight where the waves churn white — 

Ocean and plain and hill : 
Jungle and palm — where the starlit calm 

The Wanderer's loves fulfil. 

Where the bleak, black blizzards blinding sweep 

Across the crumpled floe, 
And the Living Light makes white the night 

Above the boundless snow, 
And the sentinel penguins watch the waste 

Where the whale and the walrus go: 

Where the phosphor fires flash and flare 

Along the bellowing bow, 
And the soft salt breeze of the Southern Seas 

Is sifting across the prow, 
And the glittering Cross in the blue-black sky, 

The Watcher of Then and Now : 

We'll lift again the lineless plain 

Where the deep-cut rivers run — 
[62] 



And the pallid peaks as the eagle seeks 

His crag when the day is done : 
And the rose-red glaciers glance and gleam 

In the glow of the setting sun. 

We'll go once more to a farther shore — 

We'll track the outbound trail ; 
Harbor and hill where the World stands still - 

Where the strange-rigged fishers sail — 
And only the tune of the tasseled fronds, 

Like the moan of a distant gale. 

We'll tramp anew the jungle through 

Where ferned Pitcairnias rise, 
And the softly fanned Tjemaras stand 

Green lace against the skies, 
And the last red ray of the tropic day 

Flickers and flares and dies. 

Across the full-swung, shifting seas 

There comes a beck'ing gleam. 
Strong as the iron hand of Fate — 

Sweet as a lover^s dream. 
What can bind us — what can keep us — 

Who shall tell us nay? 
When the Outbound Trail is calling us — 

Is calling us away. 



[63] 



THE FOOL 

In the first gray dawn of history 

A Paleolithic man 
Observed an irate mammoth — 

Observed how his neighbors ran: 
And he sat on a naked boulder 

Where the plains stretched out to the sun, 
And jowl in hand he frowned and planned 

As none before had done. 

Next day his neighbors passed him, 

And still he sat and thought. 
And the next day and the next day, 

But never a deed was wrought. 
Till the fifth sun saw him flaking 

Some flint where the rocks fall free — 
And the sixth sun saw him shaping 

A shaft from a fallen tree. 

Enak and Oonak and Anak 

And their children and kith and kin, 
They paused where they watched him 
working, 
And they smiled and they raised the chin, 
[64] 



And they tapped their foreheads know- 
ingly — 

As you and I have done — 
But he — he had never a moment 

To mark their mocking fun. 

And Enak passed on to bury 

His brother the mammoth slew. 
And Oonak, to stay his starving, 

With his fingers grubbed anew. 
And Anak, he thought of his tender spouse 

An ichthyosaurus ate — 
Because in seeking the nearest tree 

She had reached it a trifle late. 

Around the Council fire, 

More beast and ape than man, 
The hairy hosts assembled, 

And their talk to the crazed one ran. 
And they said, " It is best that we kill him 

Ere he strangle us in the night, 
Or brings on our head the curse of the dead 

When the thundering heavens light. 

" It is best that we rid our caverns 

Of neighbors such as these — 
It is best — " but the Council shuddered 

At the rustle of parting leaves. 

[65] 



Out of the primal forest 

Straight to their midst he strode — 
Weathered and gaunt — but they gave no 
taunt — 

As he flung to the ground his load. 

They eyed them with suspicion — 

The long smooth shafts and lean : 
They felt of the thong-bound flint barbs — 

They saw that the work was clean. 
Like children with a plaything, 

When first it is understood, 
They leapt to their feet and hurled them — 

And they knew that the act was good. 

They pictured the mighty mammoth 

As the hurtling spear shafts sank, 
They pictured the unsuspecting game 

Down by the river's bank ; 
They pictured their safe-defended homes — 

They pictured the fallen foe. . . . 
And the Fool they led to the highest seat, 

Where the Council fires glow. 



[66] 



THE SHIPS 

The White Ship lifts the horizon — 
The masts are shot with gold — 

And I know by the shining canvas 
The cargo in the hold. 

And now they've warped and fastened her, 

Where I impatient wait — 
To find a hollow mockery, 

Or a rank and rotted freight. 

The Black Ship shows against the storm — 

Her hull is low and lean — 
And a flag of gore at the stem and fore, 

And the skull and bones between. 

I shun the wharf where she bears down 
And her desperate crew make fast, 

But manifold from the darkest hold 
Come forth my dreams at last. 

The White Ships and the BlacTc Ships 
They loom across the sea — 

But I may not know until they dock — 
The wares they bring to me, 
[67] 



THE FIRST POET 

In the days of prose ere a bard arose 
There came from a Northern Land, 

A man with tales of the spouting whales 
And the Lights that the ice-winds fanned. 

And they sat them 'round on the barren ground, 
And they clicked their spears to the time, 

And they lingered each on the golden speech 
Of the man with the words that rhyme. 

With the words that rhyme like the rolling chime 

Of the tread of the rhythmic sea, 
And silent they listened with eyes that glistened 

In savage ecstasy. 

Over the plain as a pall was lain 

The hand of the primal heart, 
Till slowly there rose through the rock-bound close 

The first faint glimmering Start. 

As a ray of light in the storm-lashed night. 

O'er the virgin forests swept 

From the star-staked sea the Symbols Three — 

And the cave-men softly wept. 
[68] 



Softly wept as slowly crept 

To the depth of the savage brain, 
Honor, forsooth, and Faith and Truth — 

And they rose from the rock-rimmed plain — 

And in twos and threes 'neath the mammoth trees 

They whispered as children do : 
And the Great World sprang from the Bard that 
sang, 

And the First of the Men that Knew. 



[69] 



THE TEST 

The Lord He scanned His children, 

His good, well-meaning children, 
And He murmured as He saw them 

Where they came and paused and passed; 
" I will drag them I will drive them 

Through the fourfold Hells of Torture, 
And — I will test the product 

That comes back to me at last." 

His children came — His children paused — 

His children slowly passed Him — 
And for the sweat upon the brow 

And scar upon the cheek, 
He heaped the burdens higher — 

He cut and smote and lashed them — 
And as they swayed and tottered 

He hurled them spent and weak. 

They cast an eye, a gleaming eye, 
Above to where they sought Him — 

But blank the empty skies gave back, 
And blank the heavens stared. 



[70] 



And even they with riven heart, 

Who strove to hide the hiding^ 
He drove the scalpel deeper, 

That the inmost core lay bared. 

At last He took the Test-Tubes 

And the Acids of the Ages, 
And he lit the Mighty Forges 

With the Fires of the Years, 
And He turned and smote and hammered. 

And He poured and paused and pondered, 
Till a clear precipitate formed 'neath 

A residue of tears. 

Across the outer spaces — 

Beyond the last least sun-path, 
He called them gently homeward 

And He murmured as they passed, 
" I have driven ye and dragged ye 

Through the fourfold Hells of Torture, 
And — I will keep the product 

That comes back to me at last." 



[71] 



THE PORT O' LOST DELIGHT 

Some call it Fame or Honor — 

Some call it Love or Foi&er — 
Whence running rails and bellied sails 

The four-banJced galleons tower. 
To each the separate vision — 

To each the guiding light — 
Where, *bove the dim horizon lifts 

The Port o' Lost Delight. 

'Mid mighty cheers and the hope of years 
They swung the good Ship free, 

And with laughter brave she took the wave 
Of the wonderful, whispering sea. 

Over the scud of the white-capped flood — 
Over the strong, young days — 

Over the lift of the chaff-churned drift 
And the mist of the moonlit haze — 

Running the lights o' the Ports-o'-Call, 

Where the beckoning beacons shine ; 

But she passed them by with callous eye, 

Nor saw the luring sign. 
[72] 



Piercing the glow of the ocean's dawn, 

As slow the seas unfold; 
Scudding again across the plain 

Of rippling, sunset gold. 

Joyous and fair in the brine-wet air, 
Where the phosphor bow-wave slips, 

And the Wraiths of the Deep their secrets 
keep 
Of the tale o' the passing ships. 



II 



Till there lifted a wondrous Haven 
Across the swinging main, 

As ne'er before had lifted — 
Nor e'er might lift again. 

Clear it shone, each gleaming stone, 

Mystic, white and far. 
Castle and tree above the sea 

Where the lilac combers are. 

And over all there came a call, 
As a Siren's soft refrain — 

Nor ever a helm to guide her, 
The Good Ship turned again. 
[73] 



Swift o'er the back-set breakers 
She plunged against the wind, 

And never a look to left or right, 
And never a thought behind: 

Swinging, swaying, singing, 
With all her canvas spread, 

And bending spars and laughter 
She fast and faster sped. 

A little space — a little space — 

A little nearer, then — 
The Haven sank from the sunset sea, 

And the sea was a waste again. 



Ill 



As the quivering stag at the bullet's sting, 

Who knew not harm was nigh. 
So shook the Ship by seam and seam 

In the death that may not die. 

And though it sailed o'er every wave. 

By reef and barrier bar, 
'Neath the glare of the South Seas' scorching 
sun 
And the gleam of the lone North Star. 
[74] 



Though it Hftcd the lights o' the Ports-o'- 
Call, 

By green and crimson beam, 
It never hfted the Light again — 

The Light that fled as a dream. 

Over a blue-black endless sea — 

Over a timeless void — 
Callous and careless plunged the Ship 

That never a storm destroyed. 

Skimming the foaming coral reef — 

Daring the mid-deep wind — 
Clipping the roar of the white lee shore 

Where the Gods of Chance run blind. 

Full belly sail before the gale — 
With scuppers churning green — 

And eyes set dead in a figure-head 
That dipped in the troughs between: 

That rose and fell and cut the swell — 

Or knew the day or night; 
That rose and fell to the soundless bell 

Of the Port o' Lost Delight. 



[75] 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 

O'er the rock of all eternal — 
Over sacred soil ye\e trod ; 

Whither king and priest and people 
Make their mockery of God. 

Like the rolling of an organ 

Down the mighty nave of Time, 

In the hush of Things Supernal 
Ye have sung of Things Sublime. 

Living lilt beyond the starlight — 
Living light beyond the spheres - 

With a calm majestic cadence 
Came the call of all the years. 

As a pause across the storm-path - 
As the swaying starlit sea — 

As the faith of little children — 
Ye have writ ETERNITY. 



[76] 



KING BAMBOO 

A BALLAD OF THE EAST INDIES 

I build them boats and houses — 

I check their mountain roads — 
I bear their double burdens — 

The squeaking, creaking loads. 
Adown the broken hill sides 

My long, high pipings run, 
To bring their water to them 

Adripping 'neath the sun. 

And when from spring and river 

The weary climbers strain, 
'Tis I who hold the nectar 

To bring them life again. 
I am the quivering bridges 

That span the deep ravine — 
I am the matted fences 

That twist and wind between. 

When ye sing of the lace Tjemara tree 
When ye speak of the swaying Palm 

When ye talk of the ferned Pitcairnia, 
And the monkey's wild alarm: 
[77] 



When ye tell of the blazing sunsets — 
When ye knoref ye are nearly through 

Bend ye a knee to a Sovereign Lord — 
As my fiat-nosed children do. 



[78] 



MARK TWAIN 

Died, April 21st, 1910 

Fresh as the break o' the dawning — 

Clear as the sunlit pool ; 
Ye came on a World of weariness — 

Lord of a kingly school. 

Shuttle and lathe and hammer — 

Mill and mine and mart — 
They paused awhile to linger and smile — 

Children again in heart. 

And a World of work and trouble 

Bent to their tasks anew, 
With strength reborn of the joyous morn 

Made manifest by you. 

Again the marts are silenced — 

There's a hush o'er land and sea — 

With only the sobs of a Nation, 
That loved and honored thee. 



[79] 



THE SUMMIT 

Out of the murky valleys 

By the sweat of brow and brain ; 
Out of the dank morasses — 

On to the spreading plain: 
Climbing the broken ranges — 

Falling and driving through, 
While the toil and tears of the countless years 

Bid ye back to the task anew. 

Glory and fame and honor 

Perched on the distant peak — 
Beckoning over land and sea 

To the gaze of the men who seek. 
Lifting the faltering footstep — 

Bathing the tired brow, 
Till out of the lanes of the sunken plains 

Ye come to the golden Now. 

Far spread the gleaming foot hills, 
And the deep, gi-een vales between ; 

Fair lift the distant coast-lines 
And the water's shifting sheen — ■ 

And weary, ye pause on the Summit 
For the first victorious breath, 

When a hand at your elbow beckons — 

And ye know that the hand is Death. 
[80] 



THE LITTLE BRONZE CROSS 

THE VICTORIA CROSS IN THE CROWN JEWELS ROOM 
OF THE TOWER OF LONDON 

Glittering — glaring — glistening — 

In pompous, proud array ; 
Maces and crowns and sceptres — 

Orders and ribbons gay: 
Bright in the white electric light ; 

Caged and guarded there ; 
Symbol and sign that the luck of line 

A king or a cad might wear. 

Blinking — blinding — blazing — 

The crown-topped hillock shone, 
And the gaping crowd in voices loud 

Coveted gilt and stone. 
Coveted idle gilt and stone, 

Though never stopped to stare 
At a little cross on the other side. 

Half hid in the alcove there. 

But slowly into the Tower 

Through the narrow windows crept, 

The Winds of the Outer Marches — 

The Winds that had seen and wept 
[81] 



At Ladysmith — Trafalgar — 

Sebastopol — Lahore ; 
Khartoum — Seringapatam — 

Kabul and Gwalior. 

The breath of the red Sirocco 

That sweeps from the white Soudan: 
The winds that beat through the Kyber Pass 

Where the blood of England ran: 
The winds that hft o'er the Great South 
Drift — 

O'er the veldt and the frozen plain — 
They stooped and kissed the little bronze 
cross, 

And went on their way again. 

And the blaze of crowns and sceptres — 

The power and pomp of kings ; 
And the glare of the glittering Orders — 

The tinsel of Little Things, 
Paled in the ancient Tower — 

Faded and died alone. 
And only a cross — For Valour — 

With mystic brightness shone. 



[82] 



KEATS 

Who, in a spirit of supersensitive self-abnegation, had 
placed upon his tombstone that here lay " one whose 
name is writ in water." 

If your name is writ in water, 
As your humble tombstone saith, 

Then it forms a crj'^stal fountain 
Born to mock at mortal death. 

If your name is writ in water, 

'Tis the water of the stream 
Where the wise of all the nations 

Stoop to drink and stay to dream. 

If your name is writ in water, 

It has flowed into the sea 
Of the ages past and present — 

And of Immortality. 



[83] 



CHRISTMAS 

Childish prattle and merry laugh 
And the joy of Christmas-tide, 

And the old are young as the gay bells fling 
Their messages far and wide. 

Steaming pudding and lighted tree 
And the litter of scattered toys, 

We're all of us children again to-day 
Along o' the girls and boys. 

(Back hehvnd the happy -faces 

Lifts another looking through? 
Drop your merry mask and tell me 

What does Christmas mean to you?) 

Laughter long of the joyous throng, 

Festival, fun and feast, 
And there's never a care in the echoing air 

In the joy of a year released. 

There's never a care in the echoing air — 

There's never a break in the song — 

And we rise with the rest when the children 

are blessed 

And the hours have galloped along. 
[84] 



TUCK AWAY — LITTLE DREAMS 

His nose was pressed to the grindstone — 

His shoulders bent to the wheel, 
One of the numbered millions 

That bore no right to feel. 
Child of a callous calling — 

Waif of a wilful day; 
I heard him murmur beneath his breath — 

" Tuck away — little dreams — tuck away." 

The loom and lathe and ledger — 

Pencil and square and drill - — 
They saw his pain and they laughed again 

As hardened headsmen will. 
While 'neath their chains and chiding, 

Through the gloom of the endless day, 
I heard him murmur beneath his breath — 

" Tuck away — little dreams — tuck away." 

I saw him going down the hill — 

I saw him pause, and start. 
And bend again to the grinding grain — 

Lord of a broken heart. 



[85] 



Tlie sunset shadows lengthened — 

The earth was turning gray, 
As I caught the breath of the living death — 

" Tuck away — little dreams — tuck away." 



[86] 



BLOODY ANGLE 

July 3, 1863; July 3, 1913 
THE SPIRIT OF BLOODY ANGLE SPEAKS. 

I saw them charge across the field 

The Stars and Bars above them, 
I saw them fall in hundreds — 

I heard the rebel yell. 
Behind me, 'neath the Stars and Stripes, 

I watched the blue coats pouring 
Into the men of Pickett 

The flaming vials of Hell. 

/ thought of York town — Bunker Hill — 

Of Valley Forge and Monmouth. 
Again the Elders signed our birth — 

The great Bell tolled anew. 
And I closed my eyes and shuddered — 

And I looked to the Lord of Battle — 
And I prayed, " Forgive them Father, 

For they know not what they do." 

I saw them striding o'er the field — 

A gray-clad, aged remnant; 

I heard again across the plain 

The piercing rebel call. 
[87] 



Behind me, 'neath a peaceful sky, 
I saw the blue coats standing — 

I saw the columns meet — clasped hands 
Above my battered wall. 

I knew my blood-stained conscience — 

My reeking rowels were whitened. 
I saw the line of Sections 

Fade dim and die away. 
And Phoenix-like, from fire and hate, 

A reunited nation 
Rose up to bless her children. 

Forever and for aye. 



[88] 



THE MICROBE 

The Microbe said — " There is no IVIan — 

I know there may not be: 
I cannot hear his voice that sings — 
I cannot see his arm that swings — 
I cannot feel his mind that flings 

My earth-born destiny." 

The Man-Child said — " There is no God — 

I know there may not be: 
I cannot pause and meet His eye — 
I cannot see His form on high — 
I only know an empty sky 

Stares mocking back at me." 



[89] 



THE SEAS 

Purple seas and garnet seas, emerald seas and 
blue. 

Foaming seas and frothing seas spraying rainbow 
dem: 

Laughmg seas and chaffing seas, gay in the morn- 
ing light. 

Endless seas and bendless seas ayawn in the star- 
less night. 

Seas that reach o'er the long white beach 
Where the clean-washed pebbles roll, 

And the nodding groves and the coral coves 
And the deep-toned voices toll. 

Seas that lift the broken drift 

And crash through the crag-lined fjord — 
Seas that cut the channel's rut 

With the thrust of a mighty sword. 

Seas that brood in silent mood 

When the midnight stars are set — 

Seas that roar as a charging boar 
Till the rails of the bridge run wet. 
[90] 



Seas that foam where the porpoise roam 
And the spouting whale rolls high — 

Seas that use in the sunset hues 
Till all is a blended sky. 

Seas that reck with the golden streak 
And the flash of phosphor fire — 

Seas that glance in a moonlit dance 
With feet that never tire. 

Seas that melt in the mist-hung belt 
When sky and waters close — 

Seas that meet the day's retreat, 
Amber and gold and rose. 

Purple seas and garnet seas, emerald seas and 
blue. 

Foaming seas and frothing seas spraying rain- 
how dew: 

Laughing seas and chaffing seas, gay in the morn- 
ing light. 

Endless seas and bendless seas ayawn in the star- 
less night. 



[91] 



GOD'S ACRE 

I'm drivin' backward to the farm — 

The harvest day is done, 
And I'm passing by God's Acre 

At the setting o' the Sun : 
And I slow the homing horses — 

For I must soHloquize 
On that white crop standin' silent 

Against the crimson skies. 

I guess there's tares aplenty — 

And I guess there's lots o' chaff, 
And I guess there's many stories that 

Ed make a feller laugh. 
And I guess there's mebbc stories 

Ed make a feller weep. 
And the Angels kind o' whisper 

As around the stones they creep. 

Well, the Lord He up and planted — 
And the Harvest's come to head; 

(And He shore is most particular 
When all is done and said). 



But I reckon when it's sifted, 
And the Crop is in the bin, 

It'll be a durned hard sinner 
As the Lord ain't gathered in. 



[93] 



GOLD 

From the green Cycadesen ages, 

From the gloom of the Cambrian fen, 
From the days of the mighty mammoth 

And the years of the dog-toothed men, 
Fve Hfted ye clear to the summits — 

A toy of the upper air — 
I've dashed ye down to the pits again 

To laugh at your despair. 

I beckoned across the chasm 

To watch ye stumble in, 
And never a light to left or right 

On the crags of shame and sin. 
I called ye over mountains — 

I called ye over seas — 
And ye came in hosts from all the coasts 

To taste of the tainted breeze. 

Honor and King and Country — 

Sire and Seed and God — 
Ye have given all to the Siren's call 

When I but chose to nod. 
Ye have given all to the Siren's call — 

To the mock of the Siren's strain — 

Ye have made a choice and never a voice 

May bid ye back again. 
[94] 



THE LEGION 

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA REUNION ODE 

Across the hill I saw them come — 

A deep-ranked serried legion. 
Across the hill I saw them come — 

The faithful cohorts there. 
Bank, bar and bench — mine, mart and 
trench — 

From every clime and region. 
In manly might and majesty — 

And I knew the sight was fair. 

I saw them halt against the hill 

In loyal lines unbroken ; 
I heard them answer to the Roll, 

Nor ever missed a name ; 
For they foregathered past recall 

Were there by every token. 
As, 'cross the valley to a man 

The thundering echoes came. 

I saw them passing o'er the hill 

In serried ranks unbroken ; 

'Twas stirrup touching stirrup 

In the sunshine and the rain. 
[95] 



And good the pride to see them ride 
With strength renewed and spoken, 

Till love of Pennsylvania 

Should call them home again. 



[96] 



THE ALTAR 

UPON THE APENNINE HILL. OF ROME 

'Neath the gardens of the Emperors 

Unnoticed you may pass 
A Httle altar nesthng 

In the poppies and the grass. 
No gorgeous columns flank it, 

Where priest or Vestal trod — 
Only the carven words that sing — • 

" To the Unknown God." 

The haughty praetor scanned it 

With humble, thoughtful air — 
The base-born slave espied it 

With sullen, frightened stare: 
The Roman matron touched it, 

And went upon her way — 
The gladiator saw it, 

And paused awhile to pray. 
Even the passing Csesar 

Bowed the imperial head, 
With faltering eyes that swept the skies 

In reverent fear and dread. 



[97] 



The arching heavens domed it 

With royal lapis blue — 
The soft Campania's whisper 

Brought the sunshine and the dew; 
The candles of the firmament 

Bent down their brightest rays, 
Where, midst their Pagan Pantheon 

A People paused to gaze. 



[98] 



THE SONG OF THE AEROPLANE 

I scan your mighty fortresses — 

I scorn your splendid fleets — 
I chart your chosen cities — 

Trenches and lanes and streets. 

No secret 'neath the heavens, 

No tale of land or sea, 
But bares the breast at my behest 

To stand revealed to me. 

I pierce the rainbow's bending. 

Uncovering fold on fold, 
Till I come to the arch's ending 

Where lies the pot of gold. 

I romp in the crimson sunset — 
I mount the wings o' the dawn — 

I glide o'er the brakes and marshes 
To laugh at the startled fawn. 

Never a mark may scorn me. 

From the noise of the rising quail 

To the topmost peak where the eagles seek 
Their home in the driving gale. 
[99] 



Where lies the last least wilderness 
Man may not dare to know — 

Where stands the unsealed mountain, 
Fair crowned with virgin snow : 

Where hide the hidden ages — 
Where flow the golden streams — 

Where lurks the land of Croesus 
Or the Lotus-land o' dreams : 

Up through the rushing firmament, 

With never halt or toll, 
I bear ye far till ye come where are 

The gates of the cherished goal. 

On the wonderful things I show you 

Lucullus-like ye dine — 
For the wonderful thoughts I bring you 

Ye love and are wholly mine. 



[100] 



PACK YOUR TRUNK AND GO 

If you meet a little fraulein 
As pretty as a rosebud, 
And eyes that make your silly heart- 
strings 

Thump and bump and glow — 
Don't stand and linger dawdlin' 
When you know you're getting maudlin, 
But call yourself a bally fool 

And pack your trunk and go. 

If the mocking, hollow laughter, 
Like the creaking of a rafter. 
Greets you — standing watching after 

At the Chance you didn't know : 
Sneering in its craven power 
Comes to seek you by the hour. 
Try the palm-grove, veldt or paddy — 

Pack your trunk and go. 

If the skies are rent asunder 

O'er some hasty little blunder, 

And you start to really wonder 

How zvise some people grow : 

Let the empty carp-heads haggle — 

Let the teacup headwear waggle — 
[101] 



Just tell 'em all to run along — 
And pack your trunk and go. 

If the silent blades are dipping 
And the green canoes are slipping 
By the birches white and dripping 

In the crimson after-glow: 
And the harvest-moon is rising 
With a fullness most surprising — 
It's summer on the northern lakes 

So pack your trunk and go. 

If the Faith your Fathers taught you 
And the Land your Fathers wrought you, 
(The Land their blood has bought you), 

Shall hear the bugles blow — 
Don't watch in doubt and waiting, 
Don't stand procrastinating. 
But say good-bye with laughing eye 

And pack your trunk and go. 

Where the coral turns to cactus. 

And the cactus turns to harvest. 

And the harvest turns to hemlock. 

And the hemlock turns to snow: 

By the pJwsphor-b ordered beaches — 

By the endless, h endless reaches — 

You mil find Mm where the Whisper hade 

him 

Pack his trunk and go. 
[102] 



WOMAN 

A REPLY TO RUDYAUD KIPLING 

" A woman is only a woman " — 

These are the words you spote. 
And you deemed they were bright and caus- 
tic — 

And you thought you had made us a joke. 
Well, we who have been in the Tropics, 

Who've noted the Eastern " way," 
'May be we should half forgive you 

For some of the things you say. 

When the Cave-man spat on his neighbor 

And smote him hip and thigh — 
When the Bronze-man shvered the boulders 

Where the tin and the copper lie — 
When the Iron-man reared him bridges 

And engines of steam and steel — 
What was the Light that lifted them, 

And bade them to live and to feel? 

When the sunshine turns to shadow — 
And the shadow turns to night ; 

When faith and fair intention 

Have fought them a failing fight; 
[103] 



When Hell has drawn nearest — 

And God is very far — 
Mayhap ye then can tell us who 

The Ministering Angels are? 

A rose is only a flower — 

Can ye bring us the bud more rare? 
" A woman is only a woman " — 

Can ye show us the work more fair? 
Harrie ye all Creation — 

Look ye without surcease, 
And when ye are weary and broken, kneel 

To your Master's masterpiece. 



[104] 



NIPPON 

Trust ye the Nations of the Earth 
From sea to farthest sea — 

But trust ye not. Oh trust ye not 
Th£ wily Japanee. 

Truth? A jest o' the High and Low — 

A juggler's tossing toy — 
A two-faced guile and a child-like smile — 

(Oh Innocence sans alloy!) 

Honor? An empty mockery 

Beneath the Sunrise Sky ; 
A hollow, vain, fanatic strain 

That lifts with the loud " Banzai ! " 

Virtue? Not even a figurehead, 

So scarce indeed thou art. 
Rank to the core a shameless sore 

In a yet more shameless heart. 

Faith? A faithless phantom 

That knows no law or creed. 

To flare and wane for the moment's gain, 

And serve the moment's need. 
[105] 



Tru^t ye tJie Nations of the Earth 
From sea to farthest sea 

But trust ye not. Oh trust ye not 
The wily Japanee. 



fl06] 



THE NEW BARD 

They had sung the song how very long 
Of Love and Faith and Truth : 

And they polished fine till it ran as wine, 
With never a spot uncouth. 

Mellow it spread with softened tread 
To the beat of the perfect time — 

Chastened and blest and colorless 
In stilted, vapid rhyme. 

Songs of love that the angels above 
Laughed as they bended near — 

Songs of fight that the men of might 
Sneered as they stopped to hear — 

Till a stronger people rising — 

They cast the cant aside, 
And they lifted free for the open sea 

Where the plunging porpoise ride. 

For there lifted free from the open sea 

The voice of a bard who knew, 

And he brought them tales from the spouting 

whales 

Where only the lean gulls flew. 
[107J 



And he brought them tales from the coral 
bight 

Where the lilac waters spend, 
And the ceaseless sift of the phosphor drift 

Where the palm-lined beaches bend. 

But better than all through the endless pall 

His clear-shot wordings ran, 
And the tale he bore by peace and war 

Was the heart of his fellow-man. 

Under the ragged raiment — 

Under the silken sheen — 
They caught the worth of the spinning 
Earth, 

And the black and the gold between. 

For 'neath a coat of roughest hide. 

And 'neath the rugged brink. 
He covered whole the yearning Soul — 

The Soul of the Men Who Think. 

The Little Things with mystic wings 

That flitting merrily. 
Bind West and East and best and least, 

From sea to outer sea. 

The Little Things with mystic wings. 

Hidden the eons through — 

From his Children's gaze he swept the haze, 

And his Children seeing — knew 
[108] 



Each throbbing lane of pulse and brain — 

The far-flung Brotherhood: 
The thoughts untold and the hopes un- 
rolled — 

And they answered him where they stood: 

*' In measures strong we've heard your song, 
And the warm blood mounts again ; 

And we scorn the beat of the stifled street 
And strike for the open main. 

" Far back — far back — we leave the plains 

To the little hurrying hosts, 
And over the seas in the scud-wet breeze 

We lift for the Land o' Ghosts. 

" For the Land o' Ghosts and the laughing 
coasts 

And the goal we hope to win — 
Though ne'er we reach the beckoning beach, 

Ye have let us look within. 

" Though ne'er we reach the beckoning 
beach — 
Though it fades ere we leap to land, 
Ye have made us rife with the strength of 
life — 
Ye have spoke . . . and we understand." 

[109] 



FATHER TIME 

When your doctors fail to render — 

When jour lotions fail to heal — 
When the salted scar is burning — 

When aturtle turns the keel: 
When the lights are lost to leeward — 

When the last least hope is gone — 
Then I call ye — Oh my children — 

As a Mother calls her spawn. 

By no magic may I do it — 

By no sudden quick surcease: 
Slow, so slow, ye cannot know it 

Do I bring ye your release. 
As the blackened heavens soften 

To the morning's growing gray, 
And the gray spreads gold and crimson 

Till in splendor breaks the day: 

So by little and by little. 

That ye may not know or see, 

Do I soothe the salted searing — 
Do I bid the shadows flee — 

[110] 



Do I weld the torn heart-cord 

No surgeon art may heal, 
Till ye lift the fastened latchet 

And go forth in laughing weal. 

From Eastward and from Westward 

I call my broken clan ; 
We may not meet in lane or street 

Or greet us man and man: 
But slowly spread my wide-leagued wings 

And falling tenderly, 
I wrap my troubled Earth-spawn 

Unto the heart of me. 



[Ill] 



MY LOVES 

Oh do you wish to know my Loves? 

Then you must come with me 
To every land of all the lands 

And the waves of every sea. 

My love she nestles to my side, 

Nor careth who discern, 
For she's the breeze o' the Southern Seas 

Where the egg-spume waters turn. 

My love she wraps me in her arms 
With a crushing grasp and wild. 

For she was born o' the six-months 
morn, 
A strong, tumultuous child. 

My love needs throw a kiss to me, 
And the kiss is the rainbow spray. 

Then laughing in glee, coquettishly, 
She lightly trips away. 

My love she comes with open arms, 

A dazzling beauty bold — 

Lilac and rose and amber. 

Scarlet and blazing gold. 
[112] 



My love she gently beckons me 

And folds nic nearer yet, 
A blushing maid with crown of jade 

Where the first pale stars are set. 

Oh do yoii wish to know my Loves? 

Then you must come with me 
To every land of all the lands 

And the waves of every sea. 



[113] 



THE FORUM 

Here strode triumphant Csesars 

Returning honored home : 
Here rose the gorgeous temples 

Of proud imperial Rome. 

Here burned the Vestal Fire 

The endless seasons through: 
Here reared the haughty Arches 

The far-flung Nations knew. 

Lord of the last least horizon — 

King of the Outer Seas — 
Where beat a heart, where stood a mart, 

There bended suppliant knees — 

To Thee — Resplendent Sovereign — 

Cradled among the hills, 
Who still tln'ough the countless centuries 

The wondering watcher thrills. 

Only a Tale of the Ages — 
Power and Pride and Death — 

And the afterlight of an Empire's 
might — 
And the soft Campania's breath. 

[114] 



Only the crumbled marble. 

And Memory's lingering wine. 

And the grass and the scarlet poppies 
And clover and dandelion. 



[115] 



THE MASTERPIECE 

Des Sohnes letzter Gruss" ("The Son's last Salutation"). 
A modern painting by Karl Hoff in the Royal Picture 
Gallery, Dresden. 

We tramped the stretching galleries — 
We gazed each priceless gem — 

Jordaens — Rubens — Raphael — 
We paused and pondered them. 

The famous, same Madonnas — 
The fatuous forms at ease — 

And the Wedding Feast with Cavaliers — 
And a drunken Hercules. 

We saw the Sistinc Mother, 

The farthest Nations know — 

Till room on room of light and gloom 
Swept row on outer row. 

And some we knew and reverenced — 
Whose praise the wide World sings ; 

And some we fled with callous dread 
For flat and flaccid things. 

[116] 



Till at last at the gallery's ending 
In the room with the roof-let door, 

We saw a young man standing — 
The Lone Son bid to War. 

Lithe and strong and supple, 

Clean-limbed, clear-eyed and tall — 

And the parting gaze of the parting ways 
When the battered trumpets call. 

And we saw the widowed Mother — 
And the prostrate, sobless grief; 

And the pitying priest beside her. 
And the gentle, vain relief. 

And the Sister — standing — watching — 
'Twixt love, reproach and tears — 

The tender light of the summer night 
Where brood the unfathomed years. 

The Maiden — standing, watching — 

Fair as the first, faint star: 
A dainty symbol sent to prove 

How near the angels are. 

We gleaned the gallery's gorgeous wealth • 

But lost its wondrous worth. 

As we bowed a head in silence 

To the Good of all the Earth. 
[117] 



THE HERITAGE 

Full well they tilled the barren soil - 
Full well they sowed the seed — 

Full well they held by life and life 
The seal of the title deed. 

From Bunker Hill to Yorktown 
They waged a sacred fray: 

Oh Sons of Iron Men give ye not 
Your heritage away. 

By commerce, mart and culture 
Ye've raised a mighty state; 

But 'ware the pampered spirit, 
Ere ye 'ware the worst too late. 

By commerce, mart and culture 

Thrive ye forevennore. 
But hold ye to the Iron Age — 

The Iron Age of War. 

With rugged heart and sinew — 

With spirit stern and high, 

Keep ye the ways o' warrior days — 

The days that may not die. 
[118] 



Keep ye the ways o' warrior days, 

Maintain the armor bright, 
For where ye've raised your fathers 
blazed — 

Hold ye their Jionor white. 

That through the unborn years to come — 

Unpampered, age on age — 
Shall guarded stand their promised land — 

Our Sacred Heritage. 



[119] 



THE ADJUSTING HOUR 

Just the Adjusting Hour, 

With nobody else around, 
And you sort o' straighten things a bit. 

Beginning right down at the ground. 

Just the Adjusting Hour, 

When plans have gone askew, 

And you stand with your back to the fire 
And only your God and you. 

Just the Adjusting Hour, 

Pondering very slow. 
And you lay the firm foundations 

And you pray that they will grow — 

Tall and strong and splendid — 
That they who run may see. 

What the Adjusting Hour 
Has given to you and me. 



[120] 



THE OUTPOSTERS 

We've tete-a-teted here and there 

Whence all the breezes fan, 
From Cuba clear to Tokio 

And back to Hindustan. 

We've journeyed out of Agra 

To see the Taj Mahal 
Rise mystic white in the moonlit night 

Above the Jumna wall- 
Along the plains of Java 

We shook you by the hand, 
And watched among Tosari's hills 

The lace Tjemaras stand: 

Or Aden's great cathedral rocks — 

High — majestic — bare — 
Or Karnak's columns rising sheer 

Through the clear Egyptian air. 

We've laughed with you in Poeroek 
Tjahoe,* 
In the heart of Borneo, 
* Pronounced Poorook Jow. 

[121] 



Ere we hit the trail to northward 
Where the lesser rivers flow : 

Where the angry Moeroeng cuts the hills 

And the endless jungles rise, 
And the Dyak kampongs nestle 'neath 

The speckless, fleckless skies. 

By the myriad ship-lights stretching 
through 
The Roads of Singapore, 
By the crooked, winding, white-waUed 
streets 
Of burning Bangalore: 

By the mighty, gilded Shwe Dagon 

Aglitter above the trees, 
Where the tiny ti bells tinkle 

In the sough of the sunset breeze: 

From where the terrace-sculptured gates 
Of the great Sri Rangam rise, 

To Bangkok's triple temple roofs, 
Red-gold against the skies : 

By crowded, sewerless Canton — 

By Hong Kong's towering lights — 

By the gorgeous Rajputana stars 

That blazon the blue-black nights: 
[122] 



We've met you, Men of the Millionth 
Mark — 

Outposters — far — alone — 
Beyond the glut of the cities' rut, 

And we claim you for our own. 

(Beyond the glut of the cities' rut 
And the roar of the rolling cart. 

Beyond the blind of the stifled mind 
And the hawking, haggling mart.) 

And some of you were " rotters " — 

And some were " 18 fine " — 
But on the whole — we saw your soul — 

Oh outbound kin of mine. 

So stand me pledged and hand in hand 
By every ocean, gulf and land. 

Stout hearts and humble knees: 
Oh men of the Outer Reaches — 
Oh men of the palm-lined beaches — 
Oh men tvhere the ice-pack bleaches — 

Oh Brethren o' the far-flung seas. 



[123] 



WONDERING 

Leaning on the midnight rail, 

Looking o'er the sea, 
Winking at the little stars, 

While they wink at me. 
Wondering how it happened 

Ages long ago, 
Wondering why I'm here to-night - 

Wondering where I'll go. 

Wondering how the Scorpion 

Bends his mighty tail, 
Wondering if the Archer's aim 

Makes Antares quail: 
Wondering why Australia's Crown 

Happened to be made. 
Wondering if I really ought 

Not to be afraid. 

Wondering if the blackened sea 

Ever has a bend. 
Wondering if the Milky Way 

Ever has an end, 

Wondering why the Southern Cross 

Has an arm askew, 
[124] 



Wondering lots o' funny things, 
(I wonder, wouldn't you?) 

Wondering where He's watching from 

Wondering if He'd see 
Anything so very small 

Just as you or me? 
Wondering and wondering — 

But still the echoes fail — 
And so I'm left awondering 

Over the silent rail. 



[125] 



LINES TO AN ELDERLY FRIEND 

Written in a presentation copy of " My Bunkie and Other 
Ballads" given to A. VanVleck, Esq., of New York 
City. 

Where the sails hang limp and lifeless 

In the doldrums' deadly pause, 
Where the lights above the Polar capes 

Spread out in a golden gauze: 
Where lilac tints are listing 

O'er pui'ple tropic seas — 
Where the Arctic winds are whistling 

And the north-flung rivers freeze — 
We've met the men the Maker made 

To dwell 'neath fir and palm — 
And, we salute thee, friend and man — 

M'sieur — le gentilhomme. 



[IS6] 



BATTLESHIPS 

Addressed to " little-navy " Congressmen. 

Fools there lived when the Nations sprang newborn 

from the arms of God — 
Fools thereHl live when the Nations melt in the mold of 

the markless sod. 
Fools there are and fools there were and fools there'll 

ever he — 
But none like the fools whom the ages teach, and then 

refuse to see. 

With Other Peoples building them in squadrons — 
The Other Peoples laden down with debt — 

In the richest of the Nations you'll cut appropria- 
tions, 
But the Day of Reckoning — have ye counted yet? 

Oh be careful, Oh be meager, Oh My Brothers ; 
Weigh the cost, and gasp, and pare it down 
again ; 
Till the twelve-inch children roar and the troop- 
ships grate the shore 
And you hear the coming tread of marching 
men. 

[127] 



Then My Brothers, Oh my wise far-seeing Broth- 
ers, 
Build a Fleet and build it swiftly overnight; 
Ah truly ye who knew it all these years can surely 
do it. 
For ye and only ye alone are right. 

Go gaze across your growing, waving acres — 
Go gaze adown the peaceful, busy street ; 

May the prestige of your town be your all-in-all 
renown, 
And scorn the men who bid you, " BUILD 

THE fleet:' 

Or whine about your irrigation ditches — 

Much they'll help a scarred and battle-riven 
land. 
Oh they'll do a monstrous earning when the crops 
they grow are burning — 
Because you would not hear the clear com- 
mand. 

With the jealous nations standing to the east- 
ward — 
And the Sneaking Cur that watches on the 
west — 
You'll bargain, skimp and whine till the gray hulls 
lift the line, 
And your children stand betrayed and con- 
fessed. 

[128] 



For the sake of saving five or fifty millions — 
For the sake of " politics " or local greed — 
Will you brand yourselves arch traitors to the Na- 
tion — 
You, the sons of men who served us in our 
need ? 

Will you risk a land your Sires died to bring 
you — 
A land our faithful Fathers fell to save, 
By the bleaching bones of Valley Forge and Mon- 
mouth 
Or the crimson flood the Bloody Angle gave? 

Will you sec one half the Nation raped and burn- 
ing- 
Will you learn War's callous, lurid, livid wrath 
By the wailing 'long the wayside, by the ashes of 
the cities, 
Ere your gathered army flings across their 
path? 

You may strut and boast our boundless might and 

power — 

You may call our race the Chosen of the 

Lord — 

But if your town they raze — and if your home's 

ablaze 

You will wake and learn the Kingdom of the 

Sword. 

[129] 



You will wake and learn the word your Fathers 
taught you — 
You will wake and learn the truth — but all too 
late: 
By the shrieking shrapnel's crying — by the 
homeless, wronged and dying — 
You shall count what you begrudged to Guard 
the Gate. 



[130] 



THE AMERICAN FLAG 

It should be needless to note that the persons here ad- 
dressed do not comprise the whole American people but 
a certain distinctive type. 

Oh little men and sheltered — 

Oh fatted pigs of a sty, 
Through the Star Spangled Banner ye calmly sit, 

Nor see the wrong, nor the why, 
And ye stand with your hats on your thoughtless 
heads. 

When the Flag of the Nation goes by. 

Has the lust of the dollar gripped you 

Till the fetid brain's grown cold, 
Till ye forget the days that are set 

And the glorious deeds of old — 
And the Song and the Passing Colors 

Are drowned in a flood of gold? 

Awake from your listless lethargy — 

Arise and understand 
The battle-hymn of your fathers — 

And the Flag of your Fatherland — 

[131] 



As it rose to the hum of the feet that come 
To the drum and the bugle's call; 

As it tasted the dregs of raw reverse - — 

As it rushed through the breach in the 
wall : 

As it fell again on the gore-wet plain 
Till new hands swung it high ■ — • 

As it dipped in rest to East and West 
Where it watched its Children die : 

As it swept anew o'er the shotted blue, 
And the great gulls reeled in fright; 

As it bore the brave 'neath the whispering 
wave 
To the Squadron's hushed Goodnight: 

As it mounted sheer 'mid cheer on cheer, 

Till, far o'er land and sea, 
It gave each fold to the sunlight's gold — 

And the name of Victory, 

Then on your feet when the first proud strain 

Of the Anthem rolls on high — 
And see that ye stand uncovered 

To the Colors passing by : 
And pray to your God for strength to guard 

The Flag ye glorify. 

[132] 



THE GREAT DOCTORS 

Chiefs of all the Conquerors — 
Kings above the Kings — 

Fame beyond all earthly fame 
Where the censer swings. 

Brave and strong and silent — 
Patient, cautious, calm — 

E'en as the ministering angels — 
Even as Gilead's Balm — 

They come; the quiet god-men, 
Where hope has fled apace. 

And the Reaper's scythe is swaying 
Across the ashen face. 

No miracle proclaims them — 

No thundering cheer and drum — 

As creeps the light of the starlit night 
God's Emissaries come. 

A touch to the raveled life-cord 

Or ever it snaps in twain ; 

And as the light of the starlit night 

They silently pass again. 
[133] 



THE DREAMER AND THE DOER 

The Dreamer saw a vision 

High in th' empyrean blue, 
And slowly it passed until at last 

He called to the Man he knew — 
" Look, thou Dolt of the Blinded Heart — 

Slave of Rod and Rule — 
And drink of the wine of my sight divine — 

Oh churl of a plodding school ! " 

The Doer he checked and plotted 

And hammered and pieced again. 
But his eyes they were on the things that he saw — 

The Things of the Earth-bound Men: 
And he called to the Dreamer passing — 

" Oh stop, thou fool, and see 
On water and land the work of my hand, 

For the service of such as thee." 

" Dolt," said the Dreamer, " ye stole my dream 
I showed where the lightnings ran . . ." 

" Fool," said the Doer, " but for my toil — 
Ye'd still be a Stone-age Man." 

[134] 



SPAIN 

Might and far-flung power 

And we call the vision Rome, 
Where the close-locked legions trample 

And the triremes cut the foam. 
Grace and regal beauty — 

And Athena's temples rise 
Above the fertile Attic plains 

And blue ^gean skies. 
But when, in wanton whispers 

Creeps o'er the tired brain 
The word Romance, there falls the 
trance — 

The spell of olden Spain. 

The humdrum of the city 

The workshop and the street. 
They gently slip behind us — 

As glide our tired feet 
O'er the pavements of Sevilla, 

Where the Grandees pass again 
To ogle in the balconies 

The matchless eyes of Spain. 

[135] 



Once more the somersaulting bells 

In the great square tower ring — 
Once more the sword and cowl draw 
back — 

" The King — make way — The King ! " 
Sevilla — Mother of a world 

Of pride and golden gain, 
And greed and love and laughter 

Of Periclean Spain. 

Once more o'er purple ocean 

Or coral-locked lagoon, 
We watch the bowsprit cutting 

The pathway of the moon. 
The long white beach, the swaying palms' 

Shifting silver sheen — 
And the flickering flares of the flimsy fleet 

Where the spear-poised fishers lean. 

The low-hung, skimming scuppers — 

The flaunting skull and bones — 
The buccaneer on his poop-deck 

Roaring in thunder tones 
To a swarthy, ill-begotten crew — 

As slow the daylight dies, 
And he lifts with a smile the chartless isle 

Where the buried treasure lies. 



[136] 



The lilt of living music 

Caressing heart and brain: 
Harp, guitar and mandolin 

In languorous, limpid strain. 
The fluttering fan — the furtive glance — 

The black mantilla's reign ■ — 
And the Captains bold who drop their gold 

To bask in the eyes of Spain. 

The towering galleons plunging 

Thrice-tiered above the foam: 
The ringing round-shot roaring, 

And the crash of the hit gone home: 
The yard-arms staggering under, 

Where, scorning the iron rain 
And showing its fangs to a parting world, 

Goes down the Lion of Spain. 

When the clattering city cloys you 

With the stress of its strident call — 

When practical, calculating Things 

Are domineering all — 

When your clamped mind in its weariness 

To Romance turns again. 

Seek ye the Andalusian crags — 

The flare of the gold and crimson flags — 

And the scented breath where the night 

wind drags 

Through the Isles of the Spanish Main. 
[137] 



C. Q. D. 

THE PRESENT-DAY " S. O. S." 

Cities and kings and nations 

Hush at my outer breath, 
As sightless I glide o'er the wind-lashed tide 

In my race with the deep-sea death. 
War and Trade and the Laws ye made 

Halt at the Letters Three, 
Bound on my errand of mercy — I — 

The ultimate C.Q.D. 

No wave may intercept me, 

Though it tower a hundred feet; 
No storm shall ever stay me. 

Though sky and waters meet. 
Piercing the howling heavens — 

Skimming the churning sea — 
Through blast and gale I bring the tale — 

I — the pitying C.Q.D. 

And when through the white-toothed combers 

The helping hull looms high, 

And when the small-boats leap aside 

Through the glare of the red-shot sky, 
[138] 



Out, out across the ocean's dawn 

The final flashes flee — 
" All saved ! '* And the circhng shores ring 
back — 

" Thank God — and the C.Q.D ! " 



[139] 



THE LIGHTS 

The fair-weather lights are gleaming 

Across a tranquil main, 
By beam and beam so bright they seem 

A laughing, endless chain. 

The foul-weather lights are few and far — 

Nor flash nor leap nor fail — 
But slowly bum where the billows churn 

In the teeth of the driving gale. 

Oh the fair-weather lights o'er the sheltered 
bights 
Are melcome sights to see — 
But the foul-weatJier lights o' the stormy 
nights. 
Are the Lamps of the Years to be. 



[140] 



THE CHOSEN 

And the Guiding One he pointed me 

To each and each the deed, 
And never a word was ever heard 

Of Prophet or Saint or Creed. 

And never a word was ever heard 
But the path that each had run, 

Till the purple mist stooped down and kissed 
And said that the work was done. 

And there stood he of the iron will 

Nor gold could bend or buy: 
And there stood she of the Mother Love 

That never asketh why. 

And there stood he who striving lost, 
But striving, gained the Crest : 

And there stood she who nursed them back 
With bullet-ridden breast. 

And there stood he whose right hand gave, 

But the left — it never knew : 

And there stood she who held him fast 

When the Beckoning Whispers blew. 
[141] 



And there stood he who saved a life 

By fire, sea or sword : 
And these were Chiefs of the Upper Hosts 

And first before the Lord. 

But high o'er the great Arch-angels, 

Higher than any stand, 
I saw the chosen of the King 

At the right of the Master's hand. 

And I questioning gazed in the deep-lit eyes 

And the silent face aglow, 
Till the Guiding One It answered me 

The word that I wished to know — 

*' Out of the crash of battle, 

Where the shrieking bullet sings. 

The roaring front lines reel and rock 
As a wounded vulture swings. 

*' As a wounded vulture halting swings 
The quivering squadrons break. 

Till the shattered herds catch up the words, 
' Back, back for your Country's sake ! ' " 

(Back, back to follow after 

The light of fearless eyes. 

And the sound of a voice that knows no choice 

Where the love of a Nation lies.) 
ri42i 



And the Guiding One It paused apace, 

And then I heard it say — 
" And he ? — He died in leading 

The charge that won the day." 



[143] 



THE FAIREST MOON 

Oh ye who tell of the harvest moon 

Above the waving grain, 
Oh ye who tell of the silent moon 

That glitters across the plain. 

Oh ye who tell of the mountain moon 
That lifts each peak and crag, 

Oh ye who tell of the ocean moon 
Where the long, black shadows drag. 

Oh ye who tell of the silver moon 

In wanton ecstasy, 
Ye never tell of the fairest moon — 

The fairest moon to me. 

'Tis well the tale of the crescent moon 

Above the lake-side pine, 
And good is your song of the circling moon 

Where snowy meadows shine. 

And fair's the lilt of the gleaming moon 

Where dazzling rapids leap: 
For wondrous bright is the fairy sight 

Of the soul of a World asleep, 
[144] 



But a waning moon, just half a moon, 
With a rough and ragged rim, 

And a mystic light that makes the night 
All bright but doubly dim. . . . 

Low down, low down in a starry sky, 
O'er the shift of a swinging sea 

With a mellow fold o* silver gold, 
Reveals my moon to me. 



[145] 



THE STRIVER 

The trumpets bore his name afar 

By East and West anew, 
Where, roaring through the riven tape 

The sweeping Conqueror drew. 
And East and West they rose and blest 

With laurel wreath and cheers, 
As they had done 'neath every sun 

Adown the countless years. 

The trumpets echoed far ahead — ■ 

A faltering footfall trailed, 
Till broken flesh that called on flesh 

Stumbled and rocked and failed. 
A well run dry — a sightless sky — 

Where mind and matter part: 
A quivering frame — a nameless name - 

Wrapped in a lion's heart. 

The nearer stars they winded him — 

The farther planets heard; 
The outer spheres of all the spheres 

Took up the Master's word. 

[146] 



The J lifted him and bouyed him 
And bore him gently in 

To the Goal of Lost Endeavor — 
In the Land of Might-have-been. 



[147] 



THE OLD MEN 

Ye sing a song of the young men 

In the pride of an early strength, 
Ye sing a song of the young men 

And ye give it goodly length; 
/ sing a song of the old men — 

Of the men on a homeward tack 
And a steady wheel and an even keel 

That never a wind may rack. 

Ye sing a song of the strong men 

In the birth of a splendid youth, 
Ye sing a song of the strong men 

And ye sing mayhap in truth; 
But I — I sing of the old men 

Who've weathered the outer seas, 
And lifting the bark through the growing 
dark 

Bear back in the sunset breeze. 

Ye sing a song of the young men 
Ere they reach the second stake, 

And a name to choose and a name to lose 
In the scrufF of the rudder's wake; 
[148] 



But I — I sing of the old men 

In the glow of the tempered days, 

Whose chartings show the paths to go 
Through the mesh of a million ways. 

Ye sing a song of the strong men 

In the flush of the first fair blow, 
Ye sing a song of the strong men 

Or ever the end ye know ; 
But I — I sing of the old men — 

Time-tested — weathered brown — 
Who unafraid the port have made. 

Where all brave ships go down. 



fl49] 



THE FOUR-ROADS POST 

They had come at the Spirit's bidding — 

Who bore the right to seek — 
And the hungry he brake and gave them 
bread, 

And strength he gave to the weak. 

Honor and Gold and Triumph — 

Love and Land and Fame — 
As they deserved to each he served — 

And they left and blessed his name. 

And only one was waiting 

Before the Giver's knee, 
And He said, " Oh spawn of a troubled 
Earth — 

What may I do for thee ? " 

And the suppliant cried, " Good Master 

I asked nor fame nor gold — 
I only seek the bygone peak 

Where I saw the lands unfold. 



[150] 



" I only seek the bygone peak 

Where every pathway sung, 
And every sea had a ship for me, 

And all the World was young. 

" Oh let me know the place once more, 

The parting of the lane — 
Oh give me back the Four-Roads Post, 

That I may choose again." 

The Spirit gazed across the vale 
And his eyes had a tender glow, 

And his voice ran mild as ye speak to a child. 
Wondrous soft and low : 

" Little Waif of a Later Day, 
Where the unthought hours flee, 

The only treasure I have not 

Is the boon that ye ask of me. 

*' I can give you balms and riches — 

I can ease you of your pain — 
But I cannot give the Four-Roads Post — 

That ye may choose again." 



[151] 



THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY 

Sing me a song of Chivalry, 

The httle Man-child said . 
Of days of old when knights were bold 

And fields of honor red. 
Take me far to a maiden's tower 

And the black traducer slain ; 
To Honor and Truth and Faith forsooth — 

Oh carry me back again. 

So the Waif of Chance he wafted him 

And set him down apace, 
But never a field of tourney, 

And never a knight of grace. 
He set him down where the whipping flames 

Leap red athwart the sky, 
And the crashing wall that forms a pall 

Where the fire-fighters lie. 

The Waif of Chance he wafted him 

Across a broken main. 
And the great ship's roll like a foundering 
soul 
Groaned to the depths again: 
[152] 



But over the breast of the ocean's crest 

The plunging life-boats neared, 
And the shout that burst was " Women 
first," 

And the men that were left — they cheered. 

Where the staggering brethren dragged their 
loads 

From the mouth of the stricken mine, 
Where the hand at the throttle never flinched 

At the sight of the open line ; 
By curb and forge and death-hung gorge — 

By river, sea and plain — 
The Waif of Chance the Man-child brought. 

And bade him gaze again. 

Honor and Faith and Sacrifice 

In the midst of the city's roil — 
Faith and Honor and Sacrifice 

Where the frontier-hewers toil : 
And the Man-child slowly knelt and clasped 

The Waif about the knee. 
And he murmured low, " Oh now I know — 

The Days of Chivalry." 



[153] 



PHANTOM-LAND 

Come hoard the boat for Phantom-land 

Come join the merry crew; 
Come hoard the hoat for Phantom-land 

That lies acalling you. 

Oh throw away the red-shot day — 

The broken, weary night — 
And come with me across the sea 

To where you Hft the hght 
Of Phantom-land of Phantom-land, 

Uprising from the blue, 
With mountains green and castles 

That stand acalling you. 

It doesn't cost a single cent 

To join the joyous band; 
You needn't spend a penny 

To reach the sunny land ; 
So come away at close o' day 

Or in the morning dew. 
To Phantom-land to Phantom-land 

That lies acalling you. 

[154] 



And they who once have been there — 

Who've trod the laughing hills, 
They're always going back there — 

From roil and toil and ills: 
And when they come to Earth again — 

(I cross m' heart, it's true), 
They sing the praise o' Phantom-land 

That lies acalling you. 



[155] 



THE ROSE 

He plucked the Rose In anger — 

The Rose across his path; 
And the thorns they cut and tore him 

And scorned him in his wrath. 

He plucked the Rose in hauteur 
And pride no bond could bind, 

And the Rose it tossed its royal head 
Nor deigned to look behind. 

He plucked the Rose in sadness — 
And the red Rose seeing, knew : 

And it gave its sweetest incense. 
And its petals shone with dew. 

He plucked the Rose in gladness — 

Nor sorrow's least alloy — 
And the Rose it shook its leaves and 
laughed 

In its tumultuous joy. 

By all the devious ways he came — 

By every mood and whim ; 

And as he stooped to gather — 

The Rose gave back to him. 
[156] 



PATRIOTISM 

Ends of the riven Nation 

I've dratifn near and near. 
Duty and love and honor 

I've garnered year by year; 
Oh fair they tell o' the Lasting Peace, 

And the Final Brotherhood, 
But I call my sons to the signal guns. 

And I knom that the call is good. 

Mongol and Teuton and Slav and Czech — 

Saxon and Celt and Gaul — 
Out of the mire at my desire 

They leapt to the battle-call. 
The Mean and the Low and the Goodly — 

Murderer, saint and thief — 
From city and plow with lofty brow 

They rode to My Belief. 

The Mean and the Low and the Goodly 

O'er the fields of carnage swept, 

And for those that returned, the laurel 

crown — 

And for those that stayed — they wept. 
[157] 



And the Mother showed her stripHng 
The place where the foeman ran, 

And he pledged to the skies with yearning 
eyes — 
And the pledge was the pledge of a man. 

Over the field of battle 

The well aimed arrows flew, 
Over a sea of wreckage 

The bending galleons blew ; 
And where the arrow found him. 

Or the round-shot rent atwain. 
He fell — but turned in the falling 

To bless his Land again. 

Ends of the riven Nation 

Fve draxsm near and near. 
Duty and love and honor 

Vve garnered year hy year; 
Oh -fair they tell o' the Lasting Peace ^ 

And the Final Brotherhood, 
But I call my sons to the signal guns — 

And I know that the call is good. 



[158] 



KELVIN 

Never a mark of Mortal Man 

But ye delved to a greater depth — 
Never a truth of Mortal Truths 

But ye stirred it where it slept. 
Never a veil but ye drew aside, 

Till ye came where the Wide Ways part, 
And ye bowed a head as ye lowly said, 

" Oh God, how fair Thou art." 



THE END 



[159] 



NOTES 

The Dyak Chief 13. 

The Dyaks, a " brown " race, are the savage in- 
habitants of Central Borneo, and are said to have 
come originally from the Malay Peninsula, but to 
have since been gradually driven into the center of 
the island by the influx of the present Malays, who 
now inhabit the coasts and often far inland, es- 
pecially up the rivers. 

The Dyaks, though an old, aboriginal Malay stock, 
differ radically from the Malays in nearly every par- 
ticular. 

They are a dark-skinned, strong, well-knit, square- 
shouldered and beautifullj^ muscled type of men, 
neither tall nor short, fat nor lean, but comparable 
to the typical American cavalryman or football half- 
back or trained middle-weight boxer or wrestler. 

They have small, dark, beady, snake-like eyes, high 
cheek bones and straight black hair, often " bobbed " 
at the neck and frequently with a band around it, 
giving them much the appearance of North American 
Indians, were it not that their eyes and noses are 
smaller. They affect a breech-cloth only, excepting 
for the sake of warmth, when they don a light cloth 
jacket or a fibre coat, the latter being a simple affair, 
hanging straight, with a slit at the top through which 
the head is placed, after the manner of a present-day 
American Army " poncho." 

A chief is distinguished by having pheasant feathers 

falling down the back of one of these coats, and in 

the town or " kampong " of Olong Liko I was the 

recipient of the unusual privilege of having a friendly 

[160] 



Dyak chief take off his cloak-like garment that I had 
been examining, put it on over my head, and insist 
on my keeping it — which it is needless to say I was 
only too glad to do — and which I still have pre- 
served as the most valued treasure of all the many 
that I brought back from my travels. 

The women are of the typical heavy-waisted sav- 
age category, frequently wearing something above the 
waist, but whose usual costume consists merely of a 
long cloth, resembling a skirt, wrapped around their 
legs. 

Truth compels me to ungallantly state the ladies 
are not prepossessing. 

The chief occupations of the Dyaks are hunting, 
fishing and tending their little truck-gardens, which 
mode of life probably accounts for tlieir average 
splendid physique. 

Moeroeng 13. 

The Moeroeng (River) is a long stream in Central 
Borneo that unites with the Djoeloi to form the 
Barito, the latter being one of the great rivers of 
Borneo, flowing from its center in a general south- 
erly direction, and emptying into the Java Sea a 
short distance to the west of the southeastern ex- 
tremity of the island. Pronunciation: Moeroeng= 
Mooroong: D j oeloir=:Jooloi. 

kampong 13. 

Kampong is a native Dyak village, and consists of 
from one to three or four long houses, and sometimes 
small detached ones. The long house, the charac- 
teristic building, is anywhere from fifty to two or 
three hundred feet in length, elevated, on poles, from 
eight to twenty feet in the air. The sides of the 
houses are of rough boards or of bark and the roofs 
usually of bark shingles. The age of the dwellings 
can be told by the height they stand al)ove the ground, 
those on the highest poles being the oldest ones, be- 
cause of the former greater savagery of, and more 
frequent warfare between, the natives. Here liter- 
ally we have a case of the home being the fortress. 
[161] 



Within, the long house is of one of two arrange- 
ments; either it consists of a huge hall, often deco- 
rated with the skull and horns of the chase, running 
practically the entire length, and with family rooms 
opening into it and bake-rooms or kitchens at both 
ends, or the house consists merely of one very long 
room without partitions, the different families, with 
their crude cooking hearths, " squatting " around the 
sides of the room at intervals of ten or fifteen feet. 
Occasionally some of the families will hang up cloth 
divisions. Here, truly, we have the communal scheme 
of living carried to its ultimate extreme. 

headless waist 13. 

The Dyaks are the famous " head-hunters " of Bor- 
neo, and although their inhuman proclivities of pro- 
curing heads for their belts, in order to give them 
certain distinctions, among them, the prerogative of 
marrying, have, at the present time been largely sup- 
pressed by the Dutch authorities, nevertheless a trav- 
eler's trip through Central Borneo is dangerous owing 
to the fact that some actual head-hunting bands are 
still roaming the dense jungles through which he is 
passing. 

Due to pure luck my path was not crossed by any 
of these outlaw nomad troops, which is possibly why 
I am writing this to-day, as one white man, even 
though armed with a long 38 Army Colt revolver 
could probably make little headway against a whole 
band of these savages. My three Malay coolies were 
highly trustworthy and efficient, but I am not posi- 
tive as to exactly what extent I could have counted 
on them in the eventuality of an actual attack. 

lianes 14. 

Long, bare, tropical, vine-like growths that some- 
times wrap themselves around the trunk of a tree, 
and sometimes hang from the branches straight to the 
ground. 

leeches 15. 

Little gray leeches, up to half an inch in length 
[162] 



that, as a barefooted person walks through the 
jungle, attach themselves to his feet and ankles and 
suck the blood, until removed or until, having gotten 
their fill and swollen to many times their former 
size, fall back to the ground satiated. 

In the case of a white man, they will burrow 
through the seam at tlie back of his sock to get the 
blood they crave. 

proa . 16. 

Pronounced prow, and is any small crude Dyak 
or Malay Bornese boat, propelled by paddUng. 

blow-spear 17- 

A spear with a hollow shaft through which the 
Dyaks blow a light, wooden dart or arrow. I have 
seen these in Java and the Philippines also. 

mandauio (or parang) 17. 

Pronounced mandow, and is the typical Dyak 
sword with a straight blade broadening gradually 
until near the end, then abruptly narrowing again 
to a point. It is sharpened on one edge only. 

chief poles 17. 

High wooden flag-like poles, carved near the base, 
and with long tassels falling from tJie top. Erected 
in front of the long house in memory of dead kam- 
pong (village) chiefs. 

Moeroenr/ rapids 21. 

The Moeroeng River has magnificent rapids, which 
I and my three Malay coolies shot on my return by 
river from Olong Liko to Poei-oek Tjahoe. 

tom-toms 24. 

Round, drum-like, metal musical instruments, 
beaten with a stick having a large knob. 

(You hnoxo how far it comes) .... 28. 
Refers to the fact that salt is precious to the 
Dyaks, and must be gotten from the distant coasts, 
through traders. 

[163] 



Sick-man's Drums 28. 

The beating of the tom-toms, with the playing of 
other " musical " instruments, when a Dyak is sick. 
The nearer death, the louder the beating. Supposed 
to be very efficacious. In this particular case the 
" Sick-man's Drums " were, of course, beaten ironi- 
cally. 

greasy cahes 29. 

Thick, round, half-cooked, greasy, Dyak cakes, ut- 
terly indigestible and unprepossessing. 

On the Water-Wagon 33. 

Slang for " not drinking." 

" the mill," 33. 

The guard-house or soldier prison. 

Army of Pacification 35. 

Islands 36. 

The Philippine Islands. 

Solitary 38. 

'* Solitary confinement " is punishment meted out 
to particularly obstreperous prisoners or to those 
under very severe sentence. 

calaboose 38. 

Guard-house or soldier prison. 

jucj 38. 

Guard-house or soldier prison. 

Ten and a Boh 39 

A prisoner's sentence of ten years and a dishon- 
orable discharge from the Army. 

The Isle 39. 

Refers to Angel Island in San Francisco Bay, 
used as a discharge station for time-expired soldiers 
returning from the Philippines after the Insurrec- 
tion of 1899-1902. On Angel Island there was also 
a military convict station for serious offenders, who 
had to break stone. 

[164] 



" the makings " . 39. 

The paper and tobacco for cigarettes. 

The Sultan Comes to Town 40. 

Major Sour 41. 

The Major's name was Sour — if we speak in an- 
tithesis. 

Shah Jehan 55. 

One of the Great Moguls of India, who at Agra 
built the lovely, white marble Taj Mahal as a mau- 
soleum for his favorite wife, who died in 1629. 

Near the city of Aurangabad, in the northwestern 
part of the state of Hyderabad, is the so-called 
"Little Taj," the Mausoleum of Rabi'a Durrani, the 
wife of a later Great Mogul, Aurangzeb. Though 
built only of stucco, and not kept in the same immac- 
ulate condition as the Taj Mahal, the "Little Taj," 
with its inset, pointed arches, viewed at an advan- 
tageous distance of several hundred feet, from just 
within the ground's entrance, is to me really more 
beautiful than the splendid Taj Mahal itself, because 
the height of the "Little Taj," and, inclusively, of its 
arches, is greater in proportion to its base than is 
that of its famous predecessor. The result is a more 
delicate, lofty and inspiring effect — which effect ap- 
pears, obviously, to be the most apropos and essen- 
tial one to obtain in erecting mausoleums of this 
nature. 

Close, detailed inspection of the two tombs would 
present a diametrically opposite analysis, but in work 
such as this, it would seem that the most crucial 
aspect is the ensemble and not the minutiae or finis. 

Bajputana stars 57. 

When in Rajputana, a great state of northwestern 
India, I was impressed by the brilliancy of the stars 
on a clear night. It may have been due to atmos- 
pheric or other conditions, but whatever the cause, 
in no other part of the World have I seen such mag- 
nificent stars. 

[165] 



tulivar 57. 

The large, si:)lendid, curved sword of India. 

Flaming Trees 57. 

The trees that spread out like great umbrellas, 
covered on top with masses of blood-orange colored 
blossoms, and called " Flame of the Forest," though 
in the Philippines we usually nicknamed them " Fire 
Trees." 

Nippon 105. 

Let us be charitable, and hope that through con- 
tact with outside nations the Japanese will eventu- 
ally be able to eradicate their traits of character, 
though the probability, much less the possibility, that 
the leopard can really change its spots, is remote 
indeed. Among the poorer classes and in the rural 
interior of Japan, you will, however, sometimes find 
at least two mitigating attributes, simplicity and 
kindliness. 

My Loves 112. 

The loves here referred to are picked at random 
from among the many of the World Wanderer. The 
second stanza refers to the breeze of the South Seas; 
the third stanza, to the North Wind; the fourth 
stanza, to the Sea; the fifth stanza, to the Sunrise; 
the sixth stanza, to the Sunset. 

C. Q. D 138. 

The old "C. Q. D.," or present-day " S. O. S.," 
the wireless telegraphic signal of ships in distress. 

Kelvin 159. 

The great British scientist. Born in Belfast, Ire- 
land in 18:24. Died near Largs, Scotland in 1907. 
His name is among those the British Government 
has honored by carving into the floor of Westminster 
Abbey. 



[166] 



MY BUNKIE 
and OtHer Ballads 

By ERWIN CLARKSON GARRETT 

Army a,utt Navy Register: 

" The poems show a keen appreciation of the romantic and 
picturesque side of the soldier's life with touches of humor 
and pathos that make up the comedy and tragedy of the call- 
ing. Mr. Garrett's verses are truly sympathetic and appeal 
to worthy sentiment. They are among the best of anything 
which has been written in any form concerning the Army 
and they deserve appreciation. If the Army has a poet who 
has shown himself by his verses capable of expressing in this 
JEorm service traditions and military life, it must be this 
former soldier. Mr. Garrett has preserved the varying con- 
ditions of the soldier's life and the soldier's sentiment in 
verses that are really worth while. * * *" 

The Philadclpbia Record: 

" He has a happy knack of making vivid word-pictures; 
when he describes something of a battle it all seems clear 
before our vision; when he tells of camp life, the tented fields 
are there, and the men, and their tasks. When he draws poa- 
traits such as those of ' The Old Sergeant,' 'The ex-Soldier ' 
and 'The Rookie' these men stand strong and life-like 
before us. * * * " 
Cblcagro Inter>Ocean : 

"* * * 'My Bunkie and Other Ballads,' by Erwin Clarkson 
Garrett, are poems straight from the heart of a private soldier, 
full of freshness and color, swing and melody. * * * " 

" Mr. Garrett's songs are racy of the soil and of the life 
they celebrate. They have an appeal for all Americans, but 
particularly for the thousands of American young men who 
in war times saw the Philippines over the sights of a Krag- 
Jorgensen." 
Philadelpliia Press: 

" The American soldier has found his Kipling in Erwin 
Clarkson Garrett. * * * " 
Tbe New Vork Evening Post : 

" * * * They are the poems of a man who has marched and 
fought and slept with the Army, and they have the right 
ring. * * * " 



